The Spy Game
by ttfn.tahtahfornow
Summary: Honest to God, it all made him smile.  Non-magic AU.
1. Meet the Marauders

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

One: Meet the Marauders

x.x.x

"Sirius Black!" his mother admonished. "Your dinner is to be eaten, not played with."

Sirius pouted slightly, muttering an apology for flinging the forkful of peas at his friend, but not before pointing out that James had started it by slipping that ice cube down the back of Sirius' shirt.

James Potter. He had been Sirius Black's best mate forever. Well, all right, it had really been six years and a quarter, but Sirius had decided that because they were six and a half years old, six years and a quarter counted as forever.

"Oh, you two." Mrs. Black sighed and shook her head. "Always getting up to something, eh? Like a couple of little marauders, you are." She gave her son and his best friend of six years and a quarter an indulgent smile. "Absolutely incorrigible."

Marauders. Sirius didn't know exactly what that meant, but he he liked it. He liked it a lot. Sirius Black and James Potter: Marauders. He looked across the kitchen table at a grinning James and knew that he was thinking something much along those same lines.

Mrs. Black stood up, carrying the dishes to the sink. "Why don't you boys go outside and play for a while?" She turned to Sirius. "But keep it down, all right? Your brother's taking a nap."

"Mum?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Dad?"

She bit her lip. "You've asked me this already, dear. He's on a business trip."

"But shouldn't he be home now?"

His mother smiled. "Don't be silly, Sirius. He just left the other day. Now go on outside."

x.x.x

"Marauders!" James exclaimed once outside. "Did you hear that Sirius? We're the Marauders!"

Sirius laughed and cartwheeled across the lawn. "Well," he said, "what should we do?"

His friend's eyes lit up. "The Spy Game!"

Sirius grinned. The Spy Game was by far the duo's favorite free-time activity. A typical game consisted of James and Sirius creeping into the bushes of one of their neighbors and peering into said neighbor's home through the first-story windows until the two were sure they'd been seen, at which point they would duck their heads, crawl out of the bushes, and sprint back home giggling like mad.

"Whose house?"

James shrugged.

Sirius poked his head inside the house to make sure his mother was occupied with the dishes before giving James a thumbs-up. The two of them made their way to the front yard, where they scoped out the possibilities.

Directly across the street was the Potter's house. No good, Sirius thought. They could spy on James' parents any day.

On the Potters' right-hand side were the Evans. The Evans had two daughters, both of whom Sirius suspected were infected with dangerous cooties. James, interestingly, seemed to suspect only the elder of aforementioned cooties. Even so, while the girls were fun to spy on once in a while, neither James nor Sirius typically dared to venture too close for prolonged periods of time. Just in case.

On the other side of the Potters were the Snapes—also fun to watch every so often, but their son was a right annoying brat. Greasy, too. If they weren't busy annoying him, Sirius and James tried to avoid him at all costs.

On the Blacks' right and left were, respectively, Old Man Flamel and Big Man Hagrid, neither of whom was much fun to spy on, and at the end of the street next to the Evans was the Spooky Ghost House. The mailbox was always empty (the boys had checked several times) and the curtains were always shut. Clearly, it was haunted. James had even sworn to Sirius that he had heard Spooky Ghost Noises coming from that house on several occasions.

"Well?" Sirius asked. "Who's it gonna be? Evans? Snape?"

"No, I don't think so," muttered James.

"You're not chickening out!"

"Of course not!" James cried. "I just have a better idea."

"Yeah?" Sirius challenged.

"Yeah," he answered. "See, we're the Marauders, aren't we?"

"Yeah."

"Well, do you know what Marauders do?" he asked.

Sirius frowned a little. "Erm—well—they do Marauder stuff, yeah?"

"Well, I know what they do," James continued, puffing up proudly. "Marauders do all sorts of dangerous things. Marauders are brave—they're fearless!"

Sirius was pretty sure that his best mate was just making this up, but he nonetheless liked the train of thought.

"Fearless?" Sirius asked. "Then, if we're the Marauders, we must be the bravest of everyone!"

"Yeah! And you know where us really brave Marauders go to play the Spy Game?"

Sirius grinned deviously. "The Spooky Ghost House!" he shouted.

"Race you there!"

x.x.x

The Spooky Ghost House lived up to its namesake. In the dim light of the near-dusk summer evening, Sirius could see all sorts of ghouls and ghosties shifting within the cool shadows of the nearby trees, which seemed gnarled and twisted almost comically when compared to the other straight rows of trees in the neighborhood. He and James crawled into a few of the scrawny, dead bushes that were lined around the perimeter of the house and looked through a dirty window.

"The curtain's closed," James whispered.

"The curtains are always closed!"

"Well, how are we gonna look in, then?"

"Let's find another window."

They found another window and another window and another window, but, after circling the entire house, the Marauders had determined that the curtains of every single window were drawn. At least on the first level.

"We could check upstairs," Sirius suggested.

"Are you mad? How do you plan on getting up there?"

"Well, we don't have to go actually go up there. Let's just check and see if there are any windows we can look through."

James rolled his eyes. "How are we s'posed to look through the upstairs windows from all the way down here?"

"We'll figure it out, won't we? C'mon, let's just check first and then we'll find a way to get up there and look in if we see any windows without stupid curtains."

There were, it turned out, exactly two windows without stupid curtains.

The first appeared to be an attic window—it was small and round, and slightly higher than the second story windows. There was nothing but darkness behind the window, and Sirius and James deemed it as stupid as the others. The second, however, proved to be of much greater potential.

The window was large and square, on the second story of the house, and James and Sirius discovered that by climbing a massive willow tree—probably the only living plant in the entire yard—they were able not only to get a clear view of the window, but to hide themselves in the drooping branches.

From what Sirius could tell, the window led to someone's bedroom—or, at the very least, what had once been someone's bedroom. The walls were a dingy, used-to-be-white color, and there was a small cot in the corner nearest the window. The bedspread was so patched up with seemingly random scraps of faded fabric that Sirius couldn't tell what the original color had been.

"James," he whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Think someone lives there?"

"I dunno," James said. "Didn't think anybody lived in that house."

"Me neither."

And then Sirius saw it. Hair. A tawny color, somewhere between blond and red and brown. And it was most definitely attached to a head.

Sirius blinked and leaned closer, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious head of hair.

The curtains closed.

"Shoot!" James whispered hurriedly. "I think somebody in there saw us!"

The two new Marauders jumped from the tree and raced down the street toward Sirius' house.

x.x.x

"Hello, boys," Sirius' mother greeted as he and James entered the house. She was seated at the kitchen table next to a man Sirius didn't recognize. "Sirius, James, this is Mr. Malfoy."

The man brushed a lock of graying blond hair from his face and smiled at Sirius and James. "Hello, boys," he echoed. "Pleasure to meet you. You know, I've got a son about your age. A few years older, I suppose."

"Why don't you two go upstairs to Sirius' bedroom?" his mum suggested. "I wasn't expecting you boys back so soon, and Mr. Malfoy and I have some matters to discuss."

Sirius noticed that his mother's blouse was a bit askew, and her mild voice had a slight edge to it. He shrugged. "Okay," he replied and tugged James up the stairs and to his bedroom.

"You see that boy?" James asked once they had reached Sirius' bedroom.

"Boy?"

"Yeah—in the Spooky Ghost House."

"Err—" Sirius said. "Well, I saw hair."

"Well, yeah," James responded. "Me too. But it was definitely a boy's hair."

"Why not a girl's?"

"Too short."

Sirius contemplated this for a moment. "But," he finally said, "the hair was still sort of shaggy. Kind of like Mrs. Evans'. You sure it was a boy?"

"It wasn't Mrs. Evans, was it?"

No. No, Sirius supposed not.

"I want to talk to him," Sirius announced. "Maybe he could be a Marauder, too."

James pushed his glasses up the bridge up of his nose. "You're mad," he said. "There's no way we could talk to him. He lives in the Spooky Ghost House!"

"So?" he demanded. "We're _brave_, aren't we? We'll just go knock on the door and ask to talk to him or something."

"You're out of your mind, Sirius!"

Yes. Yes, Sirius supposed so.

"We're going, James. I want to to talk to him."

x.x.x

The next morning found Sirius on the Potters' doorstep bright and early, poking away at the bell with an eager grin on his face.

"Hello, dear," Mrs. Potter greeted as she answered the door, still donning her nightdress and curlers. "James said that you and he had something special planned today?"

"Yes'm," Sirius responded, nodding.

Mrs. Potter sighed, coughing lightly into her hand. "This something special doesn't involve the usual tormenting of the neighbors, does it?"

He tried to appear abashed, but was unable to stifle his excited grin. "No ma'am. Of course not."

"I'll hold you to that." She smiled and coughed again. "James!" she called. "Sirius is here! Downstairs, now!"

James clambered down the stairs, mussing up his already unkempt hair and knocking his glasses off his face in the process.

"Bye Mum, be back later!" James exclaimed, picking up his glasses and dragging his friend out the door.

"You know," James said when they were outside, "I thought the idea was crazy at first, but now I can't wait. This has got to be the bravest thing we've ever done."

Sirius nodded enthusiastically, and the two boys walked with nervous anticipation toward the Spooky Ghost House.

The door was wooden and foreboding, its off-white paint peeling away from the corners in little strips. Of all the doors Sirius had come across in his six and a half years, this was surely the most terrifying—more terrifying, in fact, than the doors to church, the library, andthe dentist's office combined.

"Ready?" he asked James. Before the other boy could respond, though, he brought his fist onto the worn-down wood and, without giving himself a chance to realize what exactly he was doing and promptly run home screaming, pounded. And he pounded again. And again and again.

Silence.

"Pss—Sirius! Maybe no one's home?"

"But—but we saw him. Just yesterday!"

"Look—look there!" James pointed to the window to the right of the door.

It happened so quickly Sirius almost missed it—but he didn't, which was all that mattered. He didn't miss the tiny white hand or the shaggy red-gold-brown hair or the nervous fluttering of the drapes.

"He's home, James!"

Encouraged if not slightly terrified, Sirius knocked twice more.

After this came the voices. Or, at least, Sirius assumed they were voices. There was the rumbling of a baritone, gruff and dull and consistent, a man's voice, interspersed with the high and sharp staccato exclamations of a woman. And then silence. No—not silence. Sirius heard a tiny, whimpering sound from inside, quiet and broken and trembling like a kicked puppy. The boy.

And then, _then_ there was silence.

"Sirius," James whispered, "maybe this wasn't such a good—"

The door cracked open just wide enough for the head of a not-quite-middle-aged man to poke out.

"Whaddaya want?" he snarled. His hair was tawny, colored and cut like the boy's, only Sirius also noticed streaks of gray throughout the man's. Though the time was around eight thirty in the morning, he had an apparent five o'clock shadow. The man might have been quite handsome, though, had his face not been set into such a twisted scowl.

"We—err—" James stuttered. "We're your neighbors. Just saying hello."

The man narrowed his eyes, studying both James and Sirius as if searching for hidden weapons of mass destruction. "Well, hello to you too, _neighbors,_" he growled. Apparently he had deemed them weapon-free. "Now be good neighbors and kindly vacate the premises."

What? Sirius bit his lip in disappointment. They didn't even get to say hello to the boy? He wasn't sure why, exactly, but Sirius was quite compelled to meet this mysterious little boy.

"But—" he began.

"Yes sir!" James squeaked. "Goodbye!"

He then grabbed Sirius and ran. Sirius heard the door slam behind them.

"James!" Sirius exclaimed as they walked back to the Potters' house. "I wanted to meet the boy."

James huffed. "We weren't going to get to meet the boy anyway, Sirius. Did you see that guy? He was big. And scary! We're lucky we made a break for it like that."

"Yeah," Sirius said, puffing up a bit. "Yeah, he was pretty scary, wasn't he? But we were brave, eh?"

"Yeah." James grinned. "Yeah, we were real brave."

"Race you back!"

x.x.x

Sirius sat awake in bed, watching the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and thinking about the little boy in the Spooky Ghost House. What was his name? How old was he? Why did he live in that scary house with that scary man?

Sirius wanted to be his friend. Maybe, Sirius thought, he was brave too. Anyone who lived in that scary house with that scary man had to be at least a little brave. Maybe he could be a Marauder too.

If only Sirius could talk to him.

x.x.x

Sirius was bored.

James was grounded for something or other.

Regulus was only four and no fun to play with.

Sirius was bored.

He remembered the little boy in the Spooky Ghost House.

Sirius wouldn't be bored much longer.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink_.

Sirius continued to toss pebbles at the window from where he was perched on the tree branch. He wasn't quite sure how effective this method of communication would be, but he'd seen it once in one of his mum's movies, and it had seemed like a pretty cool idea.

He just hoped he didn't break the window.

_Plink, plink, plink._

The boy hadn't come to the window yet, and Sirius was running out of pebbles.

_Plink, plink, plink._

And there he was. The boy opened the window and looked around, apparently confused.

"Hello!" Sirius called loudly from the tree branch.

The boy's head jerked toward the tree, his eyes wide and scared. "Shh!" He placed his index finger over his lips.

"Sorry," Sirius said more quietly. From his spot on the branch, Sirius was about six feet from the window and had a good view of the boy's face. His petite and slightly angular was emphasized by the sunken cheeks and pale complexion. His eyes were a shade of brown somewhere between chocolate and ginger, big and bright and warm, but not quite as young as they should be. Underneath his eyes were shadows the color of fresh bruises.

"Who are you?" he asked, and Sirius recognized the meek voice immediately.

"Sirius. Sirius Black. I'm your neighbor from just down the road there. Who are you?"

"Remus," the boy responded in a whisper, casting his eyes on the ground almost three meters below them.

"Remus?"

"Remus L-lupin."

"It's nice to meet you, Remus Lupin. Would you like to be a Marauder?"

The boy—Remus—looked up. "A what?"

"A Marauder."

"Isn't th-that a thief?"

"Me and James are the Marauders right now, but you could be one too, if you like. You have to be really brave and stuff."

"O-okay."

"Brilliant!" Sirius exclaimed a little too loudly, causing Remus' eyes to quickly shift left and right. "I have to be off now, but I'll be back later!"

"O-okay."

Sirius jumped out of the tree and sprinted home, wearing a wide smile.

x.x.x

"Are you _kidding?_"

Sirius shook his head.

"You mean you actually _met_ the kid in the Spooky Ghost House?"

Sirius nodded.

"And you didn't take me?"

Sirius frowned. "Sorry, James! You know I would've, but you were grounded that day."

"Well," James huffed, "you could have waited or something."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

James raised an eyebrow.

They burst into laughter.

"Fine, fine. But next time, Sirius Black, you had better take me."

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

Remus was at the window.

"Hello!" Sirius called as the other boy pried the window open.

"Hi."

"I've brought a friend today."

"Oh?" Remus looked up with a shy sort of interest.

Sirius nodded. "This is James Potter," he said, motioning towards the bespectacled boy sitting next to him on the branch. "James," Sirius continued, "this is Remus Lupin."

"Hello, Remus," James responded with a friendly smile.

"H-hello," the boy said in that timid little voice.

"You going to school?" James asked.

"School?"

"Y'know—school. To learn stuff. First day of first grade is tomorrow. You going into first grade too? How old are you, eh?"

"I—I'm—" Remus paused and bit his lip. "I'm six years old."

"Well then," Sirius said, "you're just the age to be going into first grade with us. Me and James are six and half, both of us."

"Maybe we'll all be in the same class!" James exclaimed, excited.

"I—err—" The boy in the window shook his hair out of his eyes. "I don't go to school."

"No school?" James raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Then how are you gonna learn stuff? You know, stuff like—counting by fives and reading books without pictures. How are you gonna learn it?"

"Oh, please," Sirius cut in. "I can already count by fives all the way to sixty. And I've read at least three books without pictures."

Remus smiled slightly, showing a few teeth and a few gaps where teeth had apparently been lost. Sirius wasn't sure what he'd done to make the boy smile, but he felt a tiny bubble of pride swell up in his chest.

"You must be v-very pre-precocious," Remus said quietly.

"What?" James asked.

"I said he m-must be very pre-precocious."

Sirius didn't know what preprecocious meant. He did know that it was a very big word and that Remus was smiling.

"Are you making fun of me?" Sirius asked.

Remus frowned. "I—"

"This is great, James! He's making fun of me!" Sirius smiled widely and laughed a little. "James and me are best mates," he said to Remus. "We make fun of each other all the time. It's what best mates do, you know."

Remus looked up and grinned just a little less shyly. Sirius felt the bubble again.

"You'll make a great Marauder!" Sirius declared.

"We have to go now," James stated, tugging on Sirius' sleeve. "But we'll come back real soon, promise!"

Remus' eyes widened briefly before he responded. "Erm—" he said. "Erm—sure. Bye."

And then the window was closed and the boy gone.

"C'mon!" James said, jumping out of tree. "Mum'll have my hide if I'm not back by dark."

x.x.x

"Mum!" Sirius called, swinging open the front door. "Mum, guess what me and James did today! Just guess!"

"Sirius!" his mother called as she hurried down the stairs to the door. "What are you doing home before dark?"

"I thought, you know, I'd be good today." He smiled. "First day of school tomorrow and all. Plus, James had to go home."

His mother sighed and bent down, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Mummy has a guest over, so why don't you go to your room and play for a while?"

"A guest?"

"Mhmm. You remember Mr. Zabini?"

Sirius nodded. "The one who brought me a lollipop?"

He mother smiled. "That's the one. Maybe you can say hello to him later."

"Okay. Where's Reg?"

"Asleep, dear."

"Oh. Well, when will Daddy be home?"

"He's—I've already told you, Sirius. He won't be back for a while."

"But _when,_ Mum?"

"Not for a while, dear. Just be patient."

Sirius pouted. "All right," he said and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.

x.x.x

James Potter liked the first grade. A lot.

He had been put in the same room as his best mate Sirius and that pretty Lily Evans girl, and also a nice boy named Peter Pettigrew. He and Sirius hadn't been sure about Peter at first.

Then Peter had dropped a straw on the nasty Snape boy's desk right before hitting the teacher with a massive spitball himself. The Marauders had then grown quite a bit warmer toward Peter.

Snape had gotten rapped on the knuckles with a ruler, plus he'd had to sit in the corner for fifteen whole minutes. But it served him right, for being so greasy and scowling all the time and never talking to anybody.

James and Sirius had laughed while Peter grinned sort of deviously. The original two Marauders then decided that Peter would be a good Marauder after all.

By lunchtime on the first day of first grade, James had decided that the school year would not, in fact, be a complete waste of time. He decided it might even be fun. There was just one problem: Sirius. He was moping. James could only guess as to why he was moping, but, after having been best friends with Sirius for _forever_, it was clear to James that he was moping.

And that was just going to have to stop.

x.x.x

Sirius Black wasn't quite thrilled with first grade. Not quite.

He was standing in the lunch line on his first day when he felt something cold and slightly wet bump his shoulder. He turned around.

"James!" he exclaimed to the boy standing behind him and nudging him with a carton of milk. "That's cold! Stop."

"Had to get your attention." James grinned. "What's the matter?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

James rolled his eyes. "You're _moping_. Duh."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"I just—I kind of—" Sirius stopped. What should he say? He was missing the boy he'd only even seen a handful of times? The boy James had only just met the day before?

"It's Remus," James stated.

"Err—yeah. Well, I mean, I was just hoping we'd see him at school. That's all."

"Well, you don't have to mope about it. He said he didn't go to school, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, but I still—"

"Exactly! So no worries. We'll just see him after school. Now hurry up. I wanna get a seat next to Lily Evans."

Sirius made a face. "That's _gross,_ mate."

James stuck out his tongue.

Sirius wished Remus were at school. Then he could sit next to Remus with James on his other side, and James could sit next to Sirius with Lily on his other side. Instead, James would sit next to Lily with Sirius on his other side and Sirius would probably have to sit next to that Peter Pettigrew boy.

Sirius would admit, though, that Pettigrew's spitball trick had been a pretty good laugh. The boy was okay, all in all.

Sirius sighed. He'd visit Remus as soon as he got home.

x.x.x

Sirius Black and James Potter were six and a half years old. Remus Lupin was six years old—no halves.

Sirius Black and James Potter liked to look in windows and watch people. Remus Lupin liked to look out windows and watch people.

They were different, the young partners in crime and the little boy recluse.

But not very.

Remus smiled to himself and peered out his dingy window at the old giant willow, which he had recently dubbed Sirius' Tree. He just hoped he hadn't named it too soon.

x.x.x

**a/n:** Reviews to me, love to you. It's a good deal.


	2. Give the Kid Some Cake

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Two: Give the Kid Some Cake

x.x.x

At twenty five years old, Walburga Black was in her prime. She had sleek black hair that fell over her shoulders in soft waves. Her bright blue eyes were shaded by long, thick lashes, and she had a lovely set of straight, white teeth behind full, crimson lips. Her delicate skin remained wrinkle-free, and because of her strict diet and exercise regime, she possessed quite a dainty figure. No one would guess she had given birth—twice.

She was beautiful. And she knew it.

Beauty, unfortunately, didn't pay. She also knew that. Another thing Walburga knew was that raising two growing boys in a nice house and a safe neighborhood cost money. What she needed was an education. A college education. Now _that_ would pay. She thought of all the well-paying jobs she could hold if only she had a college education.

But she didn't have a college education. Her husband was the one with the education. She'd married him fresh out of high school, without even a thought of continuing her education at the University. Her husband had a medical degree, and one medical degree per family was plenty.

Of course, her family now had no medical degrees. Her family now had no degrees of any kind, unless she took into consideration the mercury thermometer suctioned to the window above the kitchen sink.

She sat in front of the vanity in her bedroom and plaited her hair.

Legally, there was still a medical degree in her family. Her husband had barely been gone a month. Legally, he was still her husband. There was time for him to come back.

She stifled a bitter laugh. _Don't be such a child, Wal. He's gone and that's that._

When she had realized what, exactly, had happened, she had wanted to fly into a rage. She had wanted to scream and shout and throw things and then crawl into bed and cry and sob until her last ounce of strength was gone. She had wanted to slip silently into the bathroom and—_click_—lock the door and fill the bathtub with warm, soothing waves and step in with her razor and just—

But she didn't. She didn't scream or throw things and she only cried late, late at night, when she was alone in bed. And she didn't slit her wrists in the bathtub and float into oblivion. She didn't.

Because she had two children.

She had two young boys.

She had Sirius and Regulus.

Her heartbreak and frustration meant nothing. Her sons meant everything. She had stayed strong, would continue to stay strong, for them.

Unfortunately, despite Regulus' recently acquired affinity for playing doctor, her sons did not have any medical degrees.

And strength, like beauty, did not pay.

She had not gone to college and her sons had not gone to college. Her husband had not just gone to college but to _medical school_. Her husband held a well-paying job as a pediatrician.

Her husband was gone.

He had probably run off with that—that—_freak_ of his. It was inevitable, really. Orion was sneaky, certainly, but Walburga was sneakier. She'd noticed the signs. She'd just ignored them in the hopes that she had been wrong, was becoming nit-picky, had been imagining things.

But ignorance was no longer an option. She had two growing sons and an absent husband and a pile of bills to be paid and no medical degrees.

She remembered the blond man in the grocery line a few months ago. He had offered her a job as a secretary at his law firm. "Why thank you," she had said politely, "but I'm really no good with a typewriter. And my husband works."

_He must be desperate for a secretary,_ she had thought at the time. _He must be quite desperate, to be asking women with no qualifications._

He had given her his business card, though, and now she just thanked God she hadn't thrown it away immediately.

She finished her hair and picked up her lipstick.

The day she realized _he _ was gone, she had fished that business card out of her purse and given the lawyer a call. She had known that she would need to find work. Soon.

Walburga had met with him, and later his partner, to discuss the specifics of the job. Today she would be starting work, while her elder son was at school and her younger at daycare. She would only work part-time, however, so that at 3 o'clock she could pick up Regulus from daycare and go home.

Fuck but she wished she had gone to the University. Then she'd have some qualifications for a job _other_ than a secretary. Secretary. She didn't even actually have the qualifications for _that_.

Well—qualifications or no, a job was a job. Her good looks were, apparently, enough qualification for MR. ABRAXAS MALFOY, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

And, well—money was money. She'd get what she could with the qualifications she had.

Anything for her sons.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

Sirius waited. Sure enough, Remus opened the window and leaned his head out.

"Hello," Remus stated plainly.

Sirius grinned. "Hello!"

Remus' eyes widened fleetingly and Sirius realized that perhaps his greeting had been too loud. Remus seemed averse to loud speaking, for some reason or another.

"Can you come outside?" Sirius asked. "We could go to James' house and play. It's what best mates do, you know."

Remus bit his lip. "I—I don't think so," he said in that meek little voice that Sirius, for some reason or another, found quite endearing. "My d-dad is up."

"So?" Sirius asked. "Can't you just tell him you're going out to play? That's what I tell my mum."

"I—" Remus paused. "I d-don't think so."

"Why not?"

"He—he wouldn't l-like it, I don't think."

Sirius furrowed his brows in confusion. "But, can't you at least ask? I mean, you can't know until you've—"

"No," Remus said firmly. Well, not quite firmly. He hadn't stuttered, anyway. "I'm sorry. I just—I can't. Not n-now."

Sirius swallowed the hot disappointment fighting its way up his throat. "But—don't you want to be best mates?" Sirius wasn't sure why, exactly, but there was something about this Remus boy that made Sirius want to be his friend. Remus could be a Marauder like Sirius and James and now Peter, too, and they could all be best mates.

Remus said nothing, apparently having chosen to instead inspect the weathering paint on the windowsill.

"All right," Sirius said, sulking a bit. He pouted. "Sorry to bother you. I'll go now."

He had swung his legs over the branch and was about to jump when the other boy stopped him.

"Wait!" Remus exclaimed. Well, it was closer to a whisper than an exclamation, but Sirius heard it nonetheless.

He paused and looked expectantly at the the boy in the open window.

"I-I'd like to be b-best mates," he murmured softly, avoiding eye contact.

Sirius grinned. "Brilliant!" he said. "You're a Marauder already, anyway. Me and James decided, so there are four of us if you count Peter Pettigrew, but you don't know him. He goes to school. And so all four of us can all be best mates now and we'll do all sorts of Marauder stuff and it'll be really fun. And it's okay, you know, if you can't come outside and play with us all the time. We can still be best mates. I'll just come visit a lot. Me and James both will. I don't think Peter can, 'cause he doesn't live around here. But he can sometimes, maybe, if his mum drives him." He was rambling, he knew, but he didn't care. Remus was his best mate now, and Sirius was ecstatic.

"O-okay."

"And who's the scary man that answered the door when me and James came that one time? Is he your dad? He's really scary. D'you think maybe if I came after school and knocked on the door you could answer so that I wouldn't have to talk to him?"

"Err—" Remus said. "I don't—I d-don't think s-so. He wouldn't—he wouldn't l-like that, really. I can m-maybe c-come outside and play sometimes. When he's asleep."

Sirius scrunched his face, puzzled. "When he's asleep? But won't you be asleep too? I mean, won't it be nighttime?"

"W-well I don't r-really know. S-sometimes it's n-nighttime."

He scrunched his face even more. Sirius wanted to ask Remus what he had meant by that, but he sensed some type of nervous tension radiating from the other boy and decided that, for once, he would keep his mouth shut.

"I have to go home now," Sirius said, "or else my mum will be worried, 'cause I came straight here when I got off the bus. But I'll visit tomorrow."

Remus smiled. "Okay."

Sirius smiled. "Okay."

He jumped from the tree branch and picked up his bookbag from the ground, not bothering to dust off the dirt from the bottom.

He took his time walking home.

x.x.x

Best mates. Remus didn't know exactly what that meant, but he liked it.

Remus couldn't hold back a little smile as he closed the window, watching Sirius walk across the yard.

He didn't think he had named the tree too soon.

x.x.x

Severus Snape did _not_ like the first grade. At all.

The little black-haired boy sighed as he listened to the awful teacher—Ms. Prewitt, was it?—read a riveting story about boys named Dick and dogs named Spot. Or something along those lines.

Severus Snape was not happy.

First, he was stuck in a room with the two most obnoxious and, really, just plain _mean_ boys he had ever met. Stuck for an entire school year.

Second, he had been thoroughly humiliated and _unjustly punished_ last week in front of the entire class. All because of those two obnoxious boys, too. Well, Pettigrew had been the perpetrator, but Severus blamed it mostly on Potter and Black. The stupid Pettigrew boy had obviously just been trying to impress them. Well, it had _worked_.

Third, his knuckles hurt. Still.

This wasn't what school was supposed to be like. He remembered finger painting and counting and reciting the alphabet in kindergarten last year. _Then_ he hadn't been stuck in a room with the nastiest boys ever. _Then_ school had been an escape, not another number on his Why I Hate Life list. Which was, in all actuality, a pen-on-paper list that Severus added to, oh, every other day or so. His mother had found it once and had told him that he was too young both to be so disillusioned by the world and to spell half those words. He had told her to kindly shut up and stop invading his privacy, and that his spelling skills were. indeed, well above grade level, thankyouverymuch.

He wondered fleetingly what the word fuck meant. He certainly heard his parents say it enough. Well, usually they would shout it. "Fuck this," "fuck that," "fuck you."

It didn't sound very nice.

Well good, Severus thought. He wasn't looking for a _nice_ word to describe how he was feeling at the moment.

He scowled.

Fuck the first grade.

x.x.x

"Remus!" Sirius exclaimed. And there he was. After weeks of Sirius' tree climbing and pebble tossing, Remus had, for the first time, somehow slipped out of the house. And there he was. Sitting underneath the tree that Sirius had come to think of as his own and waiting for him.

"Hello, Sirius," Remus said, shuffling to his feet. "W-we can play now, if you want. You can show me what b-best mates do."

"Brilliant!" he said, grinning and showing his teeth. Well, the teeth he hadn't lost yet, anyway. "Let's go to my house first so I can drop off my bookbag."

It had become habit for Sirius, rather than going straight home, to stop by to visit Remus immediately after getting dropped off at the street corner by the bus. His mum either didn't notice or didn't care that he usually arrived home at least a good fifteen or twenty minutes after the bus came, which Sirius was perfectly fine with. "Then we can go get James!"

"O-okay." The corners of Remus' mouth lifted just a bit.

Sirius realized that he had, as of yet, never been this _close_ to his newest best mate (because, despite what James said, Sirius still was still slightly dubious about Peter Pettigrew's best mate potential), and Sirius took a moment to study him.

Remus was thin, nearly to the point of being scrawny, and at least an inch or two shorter than Sirius. He seemed, though, to contain a great store of hidden strength, lurking beneath the false pretenses of a delicate stature and a shy nature, just waiting to be unleashed. His clothes were ragged at best—threadbare and patched-at-the-knees blue jeans, an over-sized, long-sleeved black t-shirt, and a pair of sneakers that, while lacking laces, had a formidable number of holes, particularly in the toe area. His skin was pale like the pages of a new book, his eyes big and shadowy, and it was clear even to Sirius that Remus hadn't been outside in a while.

Remus, perhaps noticing Sirius' scrutiny, looked at his scruffy shoes and nervously ruffled his shaggy hair.

"C'mon, then," Sirius said, leading the boy away from the Spooky Ghost House and toward his own home.

x.x.x

"Mum!" Sirius shouted. "Mum, come here!"

"What is it, Siri?" his mother called as she traipsed down the stairs.

He groaned, embarrassed by her use of his babyish nickname. "Why do you have to call me that?"

Mrs. Black rolled her eyes. "What is it, _Sirius_?"

"You have to meet Remus!" Sirius exclaimed, inclining his head to the boy standing next to him.

"Hello, Remus," she said pleasantly. "It's very nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you t-too, ma'am." Remus averted his eyes and ruffled his hair again.

Mrs. Black focused her attention back on Sirius. "Do Remus' parents know he's here, Sirius?"

Remus bit his lip.

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah. Can we go to James' house now?"

She frowned slightly. "All right. Just be home before dark."

"Okay!" he said, promptly dropping his satchel in the front walkway and sprinting out the door, Remus trailing close behind.

x.x.x

"What should we do now?" James asked as the three Marauders lay on the Potters' backyard, stretched out on their backs on the crisp, autumn leaves strewn across the lawn.

The leaves _had_ been in several neatly raked piles. That was before James and Sirius had spotted them, of course. Once the lovely, neat piles had been spotted, a massive three-way leaf fight had quickly ensued. Well, a massive two-way leaf fight had quickly ensued between James and Sirius. Remus had kicked about a few leaves here and there, occasionally picking one or two up and crunching them in his hands. Mostly he had watched the James and Sirius and grinned to himself at the antics of his two new friends.

"That one looks like cloud!" Sirius cried, pointing to the sky and ignoring James' question altogether. He and James immediately burst into shaking fits of laughter. Remus smiled in amusement and giggled softly a handful of times, but his eyes grew rather heavy as he looked pensively at the sky.

"Hey, Remus?" Sirius nudged him in the side.

He flinched. "Err—yeah?"

"What's that one look like to you?"

"Which one?"

Sirius pointed to the same cloud that he had so aptly described a moment ago.

"Umm—" Remus bit his lip. "Looks like a wolf."

"A wolf? Nah," Sirius stated. "It's bigger than any regular old wolf. I bet it's a werewolf!"

"What?" Remus said.

"A _werewolf_. The people that turn into big mean wolves on the full moon and go around killing people and stuff—or else they bite you and turn _you_ into a werewolf too!"

James laughed.

"Sounds scary," Remus said timidly.

"Scared, Remus?" James teased.

Remus said nothing.

"I bet you aren't _really_ scared," James continued. "Us Marauders are fearless, after all. You're probably just covering up 'cause you _are_ one!"

They boys giggled. Sirius shrieked and jumped up. "Get him away, James! Get him away! _He'll eat me!_"

Remus grinned.

"Look, James—he's—he's—bearing his teeth!"

"Don't be silly," Remus said. "I can't g-get you."

"Of course you can!" Sirius exclaimed, apparently urging Remus to play along. "You're a—a—man-eating monster!"

"N-no I can't." Remus grinned again and Sirius rolled his eyes. "After all, it i-isn't the full moon, yet. _Then_ I can get you."

Sirius' eyes lit up. They all laughed and Sirius plopped back down onto the grass. "Phew," he said, mockingly wiping his brow. "That was a close one."

Remus wondered how he'd gotten so lucky as to have made these two friends. Friendship had, until quite recently, been a completely foreign concept to him.

He watched the wolf-shaped cloud as the sky turned pink and orange around it and hoped that he hadn't been too reckless by sneaking out of the house like that. He would certainly be punished if his dad woke up and found him missing.

Well, he decided, who really cared? Let him be punished. The afternoon with his new friends had been well worth it.

x.x.x

"So," his mum said at dinner that night, "why don't you tell me about your new friend Remus?"

Sirius grinned. "He and James and me are all best mates. And Peter, too," he added as an afterthought. "But you don't know Peter. He's in our class at school."

"So Remus is also in your class at school, then?"

"No," he responded. "He doesn't go to school."

She frowned. "Doesn't go to school? And he's your age?"

"He's six, he said."

"I suppose he's home-schooled," Mrs. Black said.

"What's that?"

"Well, it's when instead of going away to school during the day, you stay home and your parents teach you instead."

"Oh."

"Mum!" Regulus piped in. "Can I have cake for dessert?"

"We don't have any cake, dear."

"I want cake! Can't I have cake?"

"No, Reg. We don't have any."

"But why—"

"Shut up!" Sirius exclaimed. Four-year-old brothers could be so annoying. "She already said we don't have cake."

Regulus pouted.

"Sirius Black! Do not tell your brother to shut up." She turned her head to his brother. "And Regulus Arcturus Black! Eat your fish and stop whining."

Regulus pouted again.

"So," Sirius' mum continued, "where does Remus live?"

"The Spooky Ghost House!"

"Pardon?"

Whoops. "Er—he lives next door to the Evans."

She frowned again, though her tone of speech was as light as always. "Well, perhaps you'd like to have him for a sleepover?"

Sirius grinned. "Could James come too?"

"I think that would be doable, yes. I'd have to contact both their parents, of course—well, Virginia and I are good friends, and since James has slept over here before, I'm sure that won't be a problem. I've never met Remus' parents, though. Don't know their number or I'd give them a ring. I suppose I'll just have to pay them a visit sometime."

Sirius frowned, remembering how big and scary Remus' father was, but said nothing. His mother was a grown-up, after all. She wouldn't be afraid.

"What's a sleepover?" Regulus asked. "I want one, Mum! I want a sleepover!"

She sighed. "A sleepover is when you have a friend stay overnight at your house, and you may have one next weekend, maybe, or the weekend after."

"Hooray!"

x.x.x

Regulus had been put to bed for the night and Sirius' mother was sitting on the couch, reading a fat, boring looking book with small words and no pictures.

"Mum?" Sirius said, pushing the book out of the way and crawling into her lap.

She sighed and reached for her bookmark. "What is it, dear? It's nearly bedtime."

"When will Daddy be home?"

She sighed again. "Please stop asking me this, Sirius. Your father won't be home for a very long time."

"Why?"

"He's—he's on a business trip, dear. Please stop asking."

"Well, _where_ then?"

She sighed. "You know that your father is a doctor for children?"

Sirius nodded.

"Well, he's gone far away. To—to _Africa_. He's gone to Africa, because there are a lot of sick little children there who need his help. And Africa is a very long way away and he can't call us because there aren't any telephones in the part of Africa where he is and he'll be gone for a very long time. You just have to be patient."

"How long?"

"Very long, Sirius."

"Like—a _year_?"

"Longer, I would say."

Sirius swallowed, feeling the hot, salty liquid begin to prickle his eyes. "B-but," he said, "but what about me and Reg? We're children, too. What if _we_ get sick?"

"Then we'll just have to make do," his mother said, ruffling his hair. She kissed him on the cheek. "Go on to bed now, Siri, and don't ask about your father anymore."

He pouted. "Fine," he said, hopping off his mother's lap.

"Goodnight," she called as he walked up the stairs. "I love you."

"Love you too," he mumbled, blushing, because professing his love for his mother was just not something to be done loudly or without much embarrassment. Secretly, though, he was thrilled. Maybe his dad loved the little children in Africa, but his mum loved the little children right here at home. And that wasn't too bad, really.

He sniffled, wiped his eyes, and went to bed.

x.x.x

Lily knocked on her sister's door. "Petunia?" she whispered, cracking the door ajar and poking her head in through the gap. "Petunia, you asleep?"

"Wha's it?" her sister called groggily from the twin bed in the center of the room.

Lily entered the room, closing the door behind her and tiptoeing to her sisters bed.

"Can I get in with you?" she asked.

"Yeah," Petunia answered, now slightly more awake. "What's the matter?" she asked, scooting over a bit as Lily crawled into the little bed.

"'M scared," Lily mumbled.

"Nightmares?"

"No," she said. "Well—yeah. But that's not all. It's—it's that house."

Vague though her explanation was, Lily knew her sister would understand. _That house._ That house next door. Petunia called it the Shrieking Shack, an apt name indeed, given the shriek-like noises it seemed to emit at regular nightly intervals.

"Noises?" Petunia asked.

"Yeah." Lily was a terribly light sleeper, and the slightest sound could keep her awake for hours. "Like—like screaming," she continued. "I'm scared."

"It's okay," her sister said in a comforting voice. Petunia was already eight years old and very big and brave. Lily always felt safer when she slept in her sister's bed with her. "Nothing in that house can get you."

Lily felt her eyelids droop and she nestled her face into her half of Petunia's pillow. "Mm," she mumbled. "Thanks Pet."

"Welcome Lils."

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

Nothing.

_Pink, plink, plink._

Nothing.

_Plink, plink, plink._

Nothing.

"Remus?" Sirius called. "Remus are you there? Remus, you hear me?"

Nothing.

"Are you asleep or something?" he called.

Nothing.

"Are you even home?"

Nothing.

"You okay?" he called, just in case Remus was home. "Well—I'll be back tomorrow I guess."

Nothing.

"Bye bye."

Sirius climbed down from the willow and picked up his bookbag from the dirt, frowning slightly as he headed home. They had had so much fun playing in the leaves with James yesterday. Sirius had been hoping Remus might be able to come out again sometime soon.

x.x.x

When Lily got off the bus that afternoon, she'd noticed Sirius Black, the annoying friend of the more annoying James Potter, do something quite odd.

Lily knew where Black lived, and she figured that even Black wasn't dumb enough to not know where his own house was. But he didn't go to his house. Instead, he crossed to the opposite side of the street—her side. And then he proceeded to walk all the way down the street, past her house, and to the Shrieking Shack.

She wondered fleetingly if Black _frequented_ the awful place—Lily certainly didn't make a habit of observing his every move, after all—because he certainly looked as if taking a stroll to _that house_ was an everyday occurrence for him. She then decided that, no, even Black wasn't insane enough for that. Why he was even going once, though, puzzled her. A dare, maybe? Certainly he wasn't _that_ foolhardy? God only knew what was lurking in dark crevices of that place!

Or maybe Black knew something she didn't?

Petunia had already dropped her books on the kitchen table and gone searching for an afternoon snack, but Lily remained standing in the doorway, one foot inside the house and one foot out, wondering about Black.

Perhaps she should follow him?

"I'm going for a walk, Petunia," she called. "Tell Mum if she asks."

"Okay," Petunia replied from the kitchen. "Don't go too far."

"i won't."

Lily shut the front door and, before she had a chance to second guess herself, quickly scampered next door to the Shrieking Shack.

"Remus?" she heard. It was Black's voice, for sure, but where was it coming from?

She looked around the yard and saw a book satchel lying on the ground underneath a large tree. Was Black in the tree?

"Remus are you there?" she heard, and was now able to discern that the voice was not only definitely Black's but was definitely coming from the tree.

She crept slowly to the trunk of the willow, next to the satchel, attempting to make as little noise as possible.

"—asleep or—"

"—home—"

"—okay—back tomorrow—"

"—bye."

She heard rustling in the branches. Uh-oh. Black was climbing down.

She ran.

x.x.x

Lily had no trouble sleeping in her own bed that night.

The Shrieking Shack was mercifully silent.

x.x.x

**a/n:** Mucho thanks to last chapter's reviewers. Reviews equal love.


	3. Sweet Teeth and Swallowed Teeth

**a/n: **Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Three: Sweet Teeth and Swallowed Teeth

x.x.x

"So what about that sleepover with James?" his mum asked as she put away the dishes. "Do you want to do that this weekend?"

Sirius nodded enthusiastically. "And Remus too?"

She frowned. "I don't think so, dear. Is just James okay? Maybe that Peter boy you've mentioned?"

"But—" He pouted. "But I really want Remus to come too!"

"I know." She sighed. "The problem is, Siri, I just haven't been able to get in touch with his parents. He lives next door to the Evans, you said?"

He nodded.

"And you're absolutely sure of that?"

He nodded again.

"Well, I paid a visit the other day, but no one answered the door. You said his last name was Lupin?"

He nodded again.

"And you're quite certain of that?"

"Yes, Mum! His name is Remus Lupin and he lives next door to the Evans and I am quite absolutely sure and certain of it, blah blah."

"No need to take that tone with me, Sirius Black. I was merely trying to help."

"Sorry," Sirius mumbled.

"Quite all right. I've no idea what their telephone number is and no one named Lupin is listed in the phone book. If the Lupins don't answer their door, then there just isn't any way for me to contact them."

"So?"

"_So_ he absolutely may not spend the night here if I don't have explicit permission from his parents beforehand."

"But _Mum,_" he whined, "you don't understand! His dad is really mean and scary and he _never_ answers the door. Well, except for that one time with James, but that practically doesn't count since he didn't even let us in or—"

"_Hush,_ Sirius. If Mr. Lupin chooses not answer the door, that is his right. It is also his right to disallow his son to spend the night at our home, if he also so chooses. It is _not our right_ to have his son sleep over at our house without his and his wife's prior permission."

"But _Muuum—_"

"No means no, Sirius! If you like, I'll try to get in touch with the Lupins one more time, but _try_ is all that I can do. Until I have spoken with his parents, Remus may not spend the night here."

"_Fine,_" Sirius huffed and stormed upstairs as heavily as his slightly-over-six-and-a-half-year-old feet could manage.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

The window opened. "Sirius?" Remus called, sticking his head outside.

"Hello!" Sirius greeted.

"Hello." Remus smiled.

"Do you think you could get your parents to talk to my mum?" he asked.

Remus bit his lip. "Um—I'm n-not sure. Why?"

"So that we can have a sleepover!" Sirius exclaimed. "I was going to have a sleepover with you and James, but then my mum said I could only have James because she hasn't talked to your parents. And I really want you to come too but she says you can't unless she talks to your parents first. So can you get your parents to talk to her?"

"Err—" The boy ruffled his hair anxiously. "Err—I don't—umm—think so."

"What?" Sirius demanded, confused and slightly hurt. "But don't you want to spend the night at my house? It'd be lots of fun!"

"N-no—I mean, of course I want to!" Remus said hastily. "I just—d-don't think your mum should talk to my parents."

"Well, why not?"

"I—I don't think I'm allowed."

"You mean to spend the night?"

Remus nodded.

"But you can't know until you ask. Won't you just ask?"

"I—no, I can't."

"Just _ask_ them, Remus!"

"No," Remus responded in a tone that could almost be described as assertive.

"Why not?"

"I just—I d-don't think my dad w-would like that."

Sirius sighed. The topic of conversation had been closed.

x.x.x

Peter Pettigrew spent the night instead, but he lived in a different neighborhood and his mum had had to drive him.

Whenever James spent the night, he took the top bunk and Sirius took the bottom. That night, though, James and Peter _both_ stayed over. James took the top, as per usual, and Peter and Sirius shared the bottom bunk.

Peter was a good mate, Sirius decided. Nice, funny, and certainly not bad to have around.

But, lying awake and listening to the soft snores of Peter Pettigrew, Sirius couldn't help but think that it should have been Remus there with him. Couldn't help but think that it should have been Remus' snores he was listening to.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

"Hey, Remus, guess what!" Sirius exclaimed excitedly.

"What's that?" Remus asked quietly after surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder.

"I've got a loose tooth!"

"Oh—err, is that good?"

"Of course it's good!" Sirius exclaimed. "I'm gonna get James to help me get it out before I have to go to bed, so that the tooth fairy'll leave me some money tonight."

Remus looked puzzled. "Tooth fairy?"

"Yeah, you know, the _tooth fairy._"

Remus shook his head.

"You've never heard of the tooth fairy?" Sirius was shocked. Surely he knew about the tooth fairy?

He shook his head again.

"Well you've lost teeth, haven't you? I mean, it looks like you've lost some teeth, yeah?"

Remus nodded. "Yeah, I've—lost teeth."

"Well, if you lose a tooth and put it under your pillow, the tooth fairy comes at night while you're asleep and she takes the tooth and gives you a coin for it."

"R-really?"

Sirius nodded. "I've lost two teeth already. This'll be my third. The tooth fairy came both times. What do you do with your teeth when you lose them? I mean, since you didn't know about the tooth fairy. "

"I—" Remus bit his lip. "Sometimes I swallow them."

"What—why?"

"I mean—accidentally."

"Oh," Sirius said, a look of comprehension dawning his features. "Like in the middle of the night? Regulus just lost his first tooth last week. He's only four, you know, and Mum said that's really young to be losing teeth. He swallowed it in the middle of the night on accident and then in the morning he cried because the tooth fairy doesn't come unless there's a tooth under your pillow, you know. But then Mum gave him a coin, because she said it was only fair that he still got the money the tooth fairy would've given him, since he _did_ lose the tooth and all."

"Oh."

"Well, so is that it?" Sirius asked. "You've swallowed your teeth in the middle of the night?"

"I—well—yes. Sometimes. Err—at night, that is."

Sirius rearranged himself so that his feet dangled on either side of the branch. "Well," he said, "what do you reckon is the best way to pull out a tooth?"

Remus' eyes widened. "P-pull out?"

"Yeah, pull out! How do you normally pull out teeth? I mean—you can't have swallowed _all_ the teeth you've lost, can you?"

"Um—" Remus tapped his fingers on the windowsill nervously. "N-no. I mean, i don't a-always swallow them."

"So then how do you pull them out?"

"I—well, I don't."

Sirius furrowed his brows. "Well then who?"

Remus absently ran his tongue through a gap in his mouth where one of his top incisors was missing, as if remembering. "My d-dad, mostly."

"Oh," Sirius said. "Well, that makes sense. I bet he's pretty strong."

Remus frowned and bit his lip again. "Yeah."

"Anyway, I'm gonna go see if James can help me with this tooth. Can you come out and play soon, maybe?"

Remus looked conflicted before nodding eagerly. "I think maybe tomorrow. You'll be here after school?" Remus looked up, eyes big and hopeful.

"Course!" Sirius exclaimed. "See you later, Rem!"

Remus smiled. "Bye bye."

x.x.x

He spat into the sink. He spat again. Blood trickled down the grimy basin and he turned tap on, watching the cool water capture the warm ribbons of blood, the crimson liquid swirling down the drain with the clear.

He splashed some water on his face and turned the tap back off. He smiled and ran his tongue through the newest gap in his mouth, across the soft and still slightly bloody gum.

Remus Lupin had lost a tooth. And he'd been very careful not to swallow it.

He remembered last week when Sirius had come to him excitedly, boasting of the visit the tooth fairy had paid him. Remus had never heard anything about this tooth fairy until Sirius had first explained it to him, but he knew that Sirius wouldn't lie to him.

Losing the tooth hadn't been fun, of course. That part was never fun.

It was always Remus' own fault, though. This time was no different. He had messed up again, as usual. He'd forgotten to wash the dishes the last night and, as a result, he'd had to wash them this morning and hadn't finished in time to have the table set for breakfast.

"Remus!" his father had growled in that low, gruff voice of his. "Remus John Lupin, where the hell are the dishes? You expect us to eat breakfast straight off the table? Christ, I don't ask that much! Just fry the damned bacon and set the damned table. It isn't rocket bloody science—"

And, well, that was that.

Remus wished his father would take off that awful wedding ring once in a while.

But as he fingered the lost tooth now, Remus smiled and pocketed it. After breakfast, he thought. After breakfast he would run straight upstairs and put it under his pillow.

He'd never had pocket money before, and Remus mused over what sorts of luxuries he could buy with the coin from the tooth fairy. Chocolate, maybe? He'd tasted chocolate a few times before. It was amazing.

He sighed, realizing he wasn't likely to be going anywhere where chocolate was sold anytime soon. Maybe if he gave Sirius his money from the tooth fairy, Sirius would buy the chocolate and bring it back to him?

Yes. Remus grinned. Yes, Sirius would do that. Sirius was his best mate. He was glad that Sirius had told him about the tooth fairy.

x.x.x

Remus woke smiling that morning, remembering yesterday's lost tooth and the glimmering promise of the tooth fairy. Eagerly, he tossed his lumpy pillow aside to find—

A tooth.

Oh.

Lying on his sheet was the beige, tiny, altogether unassuming tooth that Remus had so hopefully placed there the day before. He had never seen such a hideous, loathsome thing in all his life.

He couldn't bear to look at it, let alone touch it, so he picked up the old pillow from the floor and placed it carefully back over the tooth.

Well then. Remus sighed. He felt the familiar prickle behind his eyes, but bit his lip to keep the tears from falling. This was only to be expected, after all. The tooth fairy, wherever she was, probably only came to good little boys like Sirius. Remus was a bad, stupid little boy who constantly disobeyed his parents and couldn't even remember to complete simple chores.

Remus didn't deserve a visit from the tooth fairy. _Sirius_ did. Sirius was a good little boy. Remus didn't deserve his friendship.

Remus would keep the tooth, he decided. Even though he didn't deserve a visit from the tooth fairy, he would keep the ugly little tooth under his pillow, if only to remind himself just how pathetic he really was.

And maybe, _maybe,_ one day in the very distant future, he wouldn't be so pathetic anymore. Maybe one day, if he worked really hard and did what his daddy told him and stopped wasting all his time on books, Remus Lupin would be good enough to merit a visit from the tooth fairy, too.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

"Hello, Rem!" Sirius called as Remus struggled with the window.

"Hello." The boy in the window smiled.

Sirius noticed an additional gap in Remus' mouth and grinned. "Hey, did you lose another tooth?"

He nodded.

"When?"

Remus scratched his nose. "Um—two days ago."

"Well did you put it under your pillow like I said to?" he asked.

Remus nodded.

"And?"

He shrugged.

"Did the tooth fairy come?"

Remus bit his lip and shook his head.

"She didn't?"

He shook his head again.

Sirius scrunched his face in confusion. "Well—maybe she just accidentally passed by your house? Maybe you should try putting it under your pillow again tonight."

"It's still th-there."

"Under your pillow?"

Remus nodded.

Sirius continued to scrunch his face. "Well—maybe she doesn't know anyone lives at your house. I mean, me and James used to think that nobody lived here."

Remus shrugged.

"Why don't you give the tooth to me?" Sirius asked, eyes shining with a brilliant scheme. "Get the tooth and give it to me, and I'll put it under _my_ pillow tonight! And she'll come to my house for sure, 'cause she's been to my house before and so she must know that people live there and stuff. And I'll bring the money back to you tomorrow!"

Remus' eyes widened. "You—you'd do that?"

"Course, why not? Go get the tooth and toss it to me."

Remus disappeared from the window. He reappeared a few seconds later, clutching the tooth between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

"C'mon! Toss it here, Remus."

Remus did so, and while he didn't seem to have much of a throwing arm, Sirius had quick enough reflexes to make up for Remus' lack of tooth-throwing ability.

"Got it!" Sirius cried, holding the tooth in his fist like some sort of prize. "I'll put it under my pillow tonight. Promise."

Remus smiled, his big amber eyes lighting up like little bulbs. "Thanks," he said.

Making Remus smile was a special sort of accomplishment, and Sirius grinned to himself. "Welcome."

x.x.x

Sirius tried to keep his composure as he walked home, but by the time he had made it to the kitchen he was beaming like an idiot.

Or like a very happy soon-to-be-seven year old.

"Sirius, dear," his mother greeted. "How was school?"

"Okay," he said, still beaming.

"Just okay?" She raised an eyebrow. "Then might I ask why you're grinning like the cat that got the canary?"

Sirius opened his palm and held out the tooth.

"You lost _another_ tooth? That's two in two weeks!"

Sirius shook his head. "It's not mine," he said. "It's Remus'. He lost it two days ago."

Mrs. Black frowned slightly. "What are you doing with Remus' tooth, Sirius?"

"He gave it to me!" Sirius exclaimed. "The tooth fairy didn't come to his house, 'cause probably she didn't know anyone lived there. So I told him to give me the tooth and I'm going to put it under my pillow tonight. I know the tooth fairy'll come to our house, since she's already been here and all. And I'm gonna give him the coin for his tooth after school tomorrow."

His mother bit her lip and continued to frown. "Well, Sirius—that's—that's very kind of you. Really, it is. But I'm not sure if that's how the tooth fairy works, dear. I suspect that the tooth fairy only gives children money for their _own_ teeth."

Sirius looked briefly crushed. "Well," he finally said, "it's a tooth, isn't it? It shouldn't matter whose it is. And how would she know whether it was my tooth or his anyway?"

"Well, she is magical, after all. I'm sure she has magic ways of telling who the real owner of the tooth is. After all, she doesn't want to be giving money to the wrong person, does she?"

Sirius frowned. "But—but that's not fair!" he exclaimed, indignant. "She wouldn't even _come_ to Remus' house! She can't just _not_ take his tooth!"

His mother sighed. "Well, why don't you go ahead and put the tooth under your pillow, then? We'll just have to find out in the morning."

Sirius smiled. "Okay!" he said, running up the stairs and into his bedroom, where he hastily picked up a carefully fluffed pillow and reverently placed his friend's tooth on the bedding underneath it. "She will," he said to himself. "She has to."

x.x.x

_You can't do this, Wal. You can't baby him like this. He has to grow up sometime. They all have to grow up sometime._

Walburga cautiously opened the door to her elder son's bedroom, tiptoeing across the carpet floor to his bed.

_You have two sons of your own. You work hard. Your husband is gone. You can't afford this. And what if this isn't a one time thing? What if Sirius expects the tooth fairy to come here for all of Remus' teeth?_

She gingerly brushed a strand of hair out of her sleeping son's face. She slipped her hand under his pillow and pulled out the dry, dead baby tooth. Remus' tooth. She thought of the sweet, polite little boy who had visited several times and even stayed for dinner once. The boy who had never spent the night. She thought about his gap-toothed smile and how that smile would be even emptier now, and she thought of those baggy long-sleeved shirts and ragged jeans he wore and the persistent look in his eyes of a child who wanted—_needed_—something, but was too shy to ask.

_You should really just tell Sirius the truth about the tooth fairy. He'll know eventually, anyway. You can't do this. Don't do it. This is the Lupins' business, not yours._

She put the tooth in the pocket of her nightdress and took out a coin. Maybe the Lupins were in a financial fix? Perhaps they couldn't afford such frivolities as the tooth fairy?

_Maybe_ you _can't afford it, Wal. Maybe you're in enough of a financial fix yourself and you can't just go around handing out money to other people's children. What happens when this sort of thing becomes expected and you just_ can't?

She gently slid the coin underneath the pillow. Just this once, she thought. Just this once. Anything to see her son smile. And maybe Remus would smile, too. That empty little smile. He was such a good boy, Walburga thought. He deserved a few smiles.

x.x.x

That morning, Sirius had clambered down the stairs, holding the money high over his head and waving it around in her face.

Walburga had smiled knowingly. "Looks like she came after all," she had said, and her son had just beamed. "I knew it would work," he'd said. "I just knew it! I can't wait to give Remus his money."

And now, as she sat at her desk in the law firm where she typed—in a couple of short months, she had greatly improved on the typewriter—and answered the telephone, her eyes darted back and forth to her purse, which held the baby tooth of that boy who wasn't her son.

She had no idea what to do with the tooth.

It had been nagging her all morning.

At first she had thought she would just toss it. After all, it wasn't either of her sons' and therefore held no sentimental value to her. But as she had held it in her hand over the office trash bin, she just couldn't. She just couldn't toss it in the bin like it was _nothing,_ whether or not it meant anything to her.

She saved all of her own children's baby teeth.

Maybe, she thought, Remus' parents would want it. The only problem was that she had no way of getting it to them, as they had as of yet been completely unresponsive to her attempts at communication.

Well, she'd have it try, at least. She couldn't just toss it—it was a baby tooth. A tiny, precious piece of lost innocence.

Even if it hadn't belong to her child, it had still belonged to somebody's child. Somebody would want it, surely.

_Oh God, stop being soppy. Just toss it. The Lupins obviously don't want it or they wouldn't have let Remus give it away. You've got nothing to do with it. It means nothing. It's just a damn tooth. Toss it._

She turned back to her desk and continued typing.

x.x.x

By the time the school bus stopped at the corner of the street, Sirius was so excited he was ready to pee his pants. But he didn't, of course, because only babies peed their pants and Sirius Black would be seven years old in December and was, therefore, no baby.

_Plink, plink, plink._

The window opened.

"Hello," Remus said.

"Hello!" Sirius called. "Guess what!"

"What?"

"The tooth fairy came last night!"

Remus' face lit up and he smiled brightly. "Really? She came?"

Sirius nodded furiously. "Uh-huh. I've got the money right here." He took the coin out of his pocket and held it up, giving Remus a clear view.

"Thank you," Remus said, still grinning.

"So, what are you gonna do with it?"

He bit his lip. "Um—how much is there?"

Sirius frowned. They hadn't learned to count money in school yet, and so he wasn't very good at it. He didn't know exactly how much this coin was worth. "Err—well, I'm not quite sure. It's not a whole pound, anyway."

"Do you think," Remus began hopefully, "m-maybe it's enough for some chocolate?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "Yeah, definitely. Is that what you're gonna do—buy chocolate?"

"I—would, maybe. Only I—probably not for a while. i don't—my p-parents don't really t-take me p-places."

Sirius noticed that Remus had started stuttering again. After Remus and Sirius had gotten closer, he seemed to have kicked that particular habit, at least when around Sirius or James. But if he were talking to an adult or a stranger, Sirius noticed, or if he anyone mentioned his parents, the stuttering would start up again.

Sirius didn't like his friend sounding so anxious, and he didn't want Remus to have to wait forever to get his chocolate.

Light bulb. Sirius had a brilliant idea.

"It's okay!" Sirius exclaimed. "I've got an idea. I'll just give the money to my mum and ask her to buy the chocolate next time she goes to the grocery."

Remus looked surprised and delighted. "I w-was just thinking—and then you—you'd d-do that?"

"Course! We're best mates, aren't we?"

Remus' smile brightened his entire face. "Yeah. Yeah, we're best mates. Thanks."

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

"Guess where my mum went yesterday!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Where?"

"The grocery store!"

Remus looked up, smiling shyly but hopefully.

Sirius took the chocolate bar from the pocket of his trousers. "I gave her your money from the tooth fairy and she bought the chocolate with it."

Remus smiled a little less shyly and with more eagerness. "Thank you. And—um—tell your mum thanks, t-too."

"So?" Sirius said. "D'you want me to toss it to you?"

"N-no. I—" He paused, as if in serious deliberation. "I can come out today. I'll be d-down in a second."

"Brilliant!"

The window closed and Remus' face disappeared. Sirius hopped out of the tree and rushed to the front door.

"Hey," he said as Remus slipped out the door. They walked over to the tree and Sirius handed him the chocolate bar.

"Th-thanks," Remus said as he situated himself, criss-cross-applesauce, under the willow.

Sirius watched as Remus carefully unwrapped the chocolate. Typically, Sirius would have demanded a share of the chocolate for himself. Not now. As he watched the boy break off a corner of the bar and nibble it slowly, something told him that Remus didn't get chocolate very much. And, strangely, Sirius was content just to know that he had made his friend happy.

Remus broke off another corner as Sirius sat next to him under the tree. "Do you want some?" he asked.

Sirius shook his head. "No, 's okay. It's yours."

Remus pushed the chocolate closer to his friend. "But—your mum got it. And you put my tooth under your pillow and everything. You deserve some."

Sirius smiled and took the piece his friend had broken off for him. Really, who was he to refuse chocolate? "Thanks," he said, a word that Sirius took pride in using as sparingly as possible. Except when it came to Remus.

"Welcome," Remus said between nibbles, with a broad smile on his face and a rare shine in his big, gold-brown eyes.

The two finished the chocolate in silence. As Sirius licked melted traces of the confection from his fingers, he thought that he would buy all the chocolate in the world if only it would make Remus' bright eyes and carefree smile last forever.

x.x.x

**a/n:** Flames, constructive criticism, and messages of undying love are always welcome. Or anything, really, so long as it's in review form. Love to all.


	4. Happy Christmas, YLF

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Four: Happy Christmas, YLF

x.x.x

"Recess!" Ms. Prewitt declared, and the first graders filed out of the classroom.

"Hey, Black!" Sirius heard someone call once the students were outside. He turned to see Lily Evans running his direction, fiery ponytail waving behind her.

James whipped his head about so quickly that he knocked his glasses off his face. "_Lily Evans_ wants to talk to you, Sirius," he whispered as he retrieved his second pair of eyes. "You. Are. So. Lucky."

Interestingly enough, Sirius wasn't feeling so lucky. "What do you want, Evans?" he barked.

She sneered. "You don't have to be rude," she said. "I just wanted to ask you something."

"Maybe I could help?" James hastily offered.

The girl ignored him, green eyes trained on Sirius. "Look—why—I mean, I saw you a—a few weeks ago."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "You see me everyday, just about. So what?"

Lily huffed. "Well that's not what I meant, stupid. If you'd let finish—I mean, I saw you at the Shrieking Shack. I just—wanted to know what you were doing there."

"The _what?_ And don't call me stupid—you're the stupid—"

"The—oh—the house next door to me!"

He rolled his eyes. "Well, yeah, I actually go to the house next door to you _all the time._ It happens to belong to James, who happens to be my best friend, in case you hadn't noticed."

James grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, duh, Black!" Lily exclaimed. "I meant the _other_ house next door to me. The scary one!"

"Well—and—so what if you _did_ see me there?" Sirius quipped cleverly.

"I just wanted to know how come you were there, is all. It's—been bothering me."

"I can tell you!" James exclaimed. "Sirius and me go over there sometimes, except Sirius more than me, but really both of us go, 'cause—"

"Shut up, James!" Sirius cried. He turned to Lily. "Maybe it isn't any of your business why I was there."

"Why?" Lily asked. "Are you not allowed? You think I'll tattle?"

"No! I mean—I am too allowed. But it's none of your beeswax."

Sirius refused to tell that—that _girl_ about Remus. Just look at what she'd already done to poor James, he thought as James once again knocked his spectacles off of his face from the sheer excitement of being in such close proximity to one Lily Evans. Well, it may have been too late for Sirius' best mate of _forever,_ but it was not yet too late for his best mate of not-quite-forever.

No way was he letting that evil girl anywhere near _his_ Remus.

"Of course you wouldn't tattle!" James exclaimed. He looked back at Sirius. "C'mon, mate, just let me tell her why—"

"No!" Sirius sneered at Lily, then turned to speak to his friend. "Don't tell her, James."

"I don't see why it matters so much," James said sorely. "She won't care."

"You think I care what _she_ thinks? I just don't want her getting near Re—near _him!_"

"Well why not?"

"She's—because—well, I just don't! I don't like her." Sirius turned. "You hear that, Evans? So you can just—"

But he wasn't speaking to Lily. He was speaking to the empty space where Lily had been standing just moments ago.

"She's gone!" James exclaimed. "How'd she get away without us noticing?"

"Dunno," Sirius said. "Guess she left while we were talking."

James pouted. "Wish she'd come back."

Sirius rolled his eyes. Yes, it had definitely a good decision to keep that red-haired busybody away from Remus.

x.x.x

As she dropped her book satchel onto the kitchen table that afternoon, Lily was terrified. Excited, but terrified.

She cooled the burning fear and nervous anticipation by congratulating herself on having put up with Black's rudeness and Potter's complete idiocy for long enough to get the information she'd been seeking.

"_I just don't want her getting near Re—near_ him!"

So, Lily thought as she remembered what she had heard from Sirius in the willow tree a few weeks ago, there was most definitely someone named Remus living at the Shrieking Shack.

"_Sirius and me go over there sometimes, except Sirius more than me, but really both of us go, 'cause—_"

And, whoever this Remus boy was, Sirius Black and James Potter spent a decent amount of time visiting him.

Well, Lily didn't care what Sirius Black wanted. _She_ wanted to meet this Remus boy. And she planned to.

Even if he lived in an absolutely terror-inducing house.

"Pet?"

"Yeah?" Petunia said as she poured herself a glass of water.

"Where's Mum?" Lily asked.

"Upstairs vacuuming, I think."

"Oh, well, if she asks, tell her I'm going on a walk."

"All right."

As Lily approached _that house_, she heard voices coming from the willow tree. She looked over and saw two bookbags—belonging to James and Sirius, no doubt—lying on the ground beneath the shade of the large willow tree.

Well then. If _they_ were talking to Remus, then she certainly wouldn't be able to meet him yet. She'd have to wait for Potter and Black to leave.

Lily got on all fours and crept behind one of the gnarled bushes surrounding the house, where she had a good view of the tree while remaining completely hidden. She was even able to catch a few confused snippets of conversation:

"—and then Peter—"

"—recess—"

"—so nosy—"

"—isn't, either! She's so pretty—"

"—come outside—"

"—but why can't—"

"—maybe tomorrow—"

And then Potter and Black were climbing down the tree. Lily watched as the two picked up their book satchels and ran to their respective houses. She waited to emerge from the bush until the coast was most definitely clear.

Her original plan had been to knock on the door and ask to see this Remus boy, but apparently Potter and Black didn't use the door—just the tree. She deliberated for a moment before creeping over to the massive willow and climbing up.

"Remus?" she called once settled on a branch. "Is there anyone named Remus around here?"

She looked around the tree branches before noticing a window directly in front of her—the only window, it appeared, with the drapes opened.

Remus' window! It had to be!

"Remus?" she called again in the direction of the window. "You in there? Anyone named Remus there?"

She wondered how Potter and Black got the Remus boy's attention with that window separating them. Perhaps she could throw something? But what?

She pulled her hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. She stretched the hair elastic between the thumb of one hand and the forefinger of the other, much like a slingshot, and aimed.

The metal clasp of the elastic band hit the window with a small _tink_.

And suddenly there was the pale face of a little boy about her age in the window. The boy opened the window cautiously.

"Hello," Lily called. "Are you Remus?"

His eyes widened. "Y-yes. I—my n-name is Remus. Remus L-Lupin. How did y-you know?"

Should she lie? "I overheard Black talking to you." Nah. Well—that _was_ the truth, basically.

Remus smiled and Lily noticed several gaps in his mouth. She felt a twinge of jealousy. Lily was the only one in the first grade who hadn't lost any teeth yet, and whoever this boy was, he had apparently lost several.

"Is Sirius y-your friend?" Remus asked.

"No! He hates me. But he's your friend, isn't he?"

The boy nodded, shaggy hair falling into his big, scared eyes.

"Do you think we could be friends?" Lily asked without further ado. "I'm Lily Evans and I live right next door to you."

His eyes widened in something akin to recognition. "Y-you w-want to be friends w-with _me?_" the little boy asked, as if shocked.

"Sure," Lily said. "Of course I do!" And it was true. This little boy was shy and sweet and polite and—well, everything that Sirius Black and James Potter were _not_. She wanted to become his friend and learn all about him and figure out why such a seemingly nice boy lived in such a scary house.

"O-okay," Remus said, grinning.

"How old are you?" she asked.

"Um—six."

"Me too!" she exclaimed. "How come you don't go to school with the rest of us, then?"

He shrugged.

"You're home-schooled?"

Remus bit his lip before nodding.

"Well, that's okay," she said. "I can still visit you all the time. Just not when Black and Potter are here. Why are you friends with them, anyways? They're so mean."

"Oh—um—well—" Remus cast his eyes downward. "Um—they're n-nice, really. We're—we're best mates. I'm—umm—s-sorry if they're n-not nice to you."

"Don't be. Isn't your fault. How come they're always coming to this window, anyway? Why not just use the door?"

"You p-probably shouldn't," he said. "Use the d-door, that is."

"How come?"

"Err—my d-dad doesn't like it. When people c-come to the door."

"Oh, okay. Well, I probably should go home now, before my mum and sister start to worry. But I'll come back real soon." She smiled. "We're going to be best friends, Remus!"

Remus nodded, smiling timidly as Lily climbed down the tree. "O-okay. Goodbye, Lily."

"Bye bye!" Lily called from the ground, waving as Remus closed the window.

So there, Sirius Black, she thought as she skipped home. It _was_ her beeswax now, thankyouverymuch.

x.x.x

Remus couldn't stop grinning as he dried the dishes that night.

_Four friends._ He had _four friends._

Just a few months ago, he remembered, the idea of him having even a single friend had been completely ludicrous. And now—now he had _four._

There was his best mate, Sirius. The one who had been his first friend ever. The one who had taught him about the tooth fairy and brought him chocolate. The one who climbed up the willow and visited him everyday after school, even though Remus could hardly ever come out and play. Sirius, with that straight black hair that reflected the sunlight and those mischievous gray eyes.

Then there was his other best mate, James. The one who had been his second friend ever. The one who had played in the leaves with him and who visited almost as often as Sirius. James, with that tussled black hair and those hazel eyes framed by a pair of round glasses, who was head-over-heels for the girl next door.

There was also his third best mate, Peter, the final of the Marauders. The one who had spent the night at Sirius' house while Remus sat at home prickling with jealousy. The one who visited whenever he could (which, due to his location, was not very often). Peter, the quiet boy with the short blond hair and trusting blue eyes.

And now—there was Lily. The one whom James had called pretty and Sirius had called annoying and nosy. The one who wasn't a Marauder. Lily, who had visited once and promised to visit more, and who had said that they would be best friends. Lily, with the sparkling green eyes and bright red hair. Lily, the girl next door.

_Four friends._

What had a pitiful little boy like Remus done to deserve such great fortune?

He smiled again as he thought about his newest friend.

He promptly dropped this dish, which hit the floor with an acute _clang_ and shattered.

The smile quickly faded.

x.x.x

"Pet?" Lily whispered as she climbed into her sister's bed.

"Mmm—yeah, Lils?"

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Mhmm," her sister replied. "Is it that house? The Shrieking Shack?"

Lily nodded.

"It'll be okay. There aren't any ghosts there, Lily. Nothing there can hurt you."

"I know," she said. "I know there aren't ghosts, now."

"Then what's so scary?"

She shivered and pulled Petunia's comforter around her shoulders. "That is what's so scary."

"Mm," Petunia murmured into the pillow. "Go to sleep now, Lils."

x.x.x

Two days later, Lily lost her first baby tooth.

It wasn't as exciting as she had imagined.

x.x.x

December swept through their little corner of Britain, icy and bitter and cold, which was just how Severus liked it.

Of course, while he took his own bitter and cold enjoyment from said bitter and cold weather, there were other aspects of the month of December that failed to please Severus as the frigid, gray skies did.

One of these was Christmas.

It could be said that _making merry_ was simply not Severus Snape's _thing_. Frankly, he was not naturally inclined toward a cheerful disposition. Considering his rather—colorful—parents, Severus figured that at least a part of his failure to make merry could be blamed on genetics. The rest was pure and plain resentment. Because, really, what nearly-seven-year-old boy wouldn't resent those awful people like Potter and Black, who trimmed trees and sang carols and _made merry,_ while _he_ was stuck on his dingy cot on Christmas morning with nothing to amuse himself but a flyswatter and his father's shouts, penetrating the paper-thin barriers that some idiots might call walls?

Well, they most definitely weren't walls. Walls would keep the shouts, the sharp smacks of palm-on-cheek, the disgusting, shrill whimpering, on the other side. Walls would keep the hatred and the resentment and the sickening, stomach-clenching fear on the other side. Walls would keep him safe and oblivious and warm and dry and, if not happy, at least content.

Severus didn't quite know what separated him from his parents, but it sure as hell wasn't any kind of wall.

"Happy Christmas, you little fucker," he muttered to the house fly that had landed on one of his new wool socks—they had even been wrapped, sort of. A brown paper bag could count as wrapping paper, no?

The fly buzzed and did a circle in the air, this time landing next to him on the painted wood and insulation that Severus was disinclined to refer to as a wall.

He picked up the plastic flyswatter and, with a swift smack that sounded nothing and everything like the skin-on-skin smacks he knew so well, the little fucker had been reduced to a brown, red, and black inkblot.

Gutblot.

That would definitely leave a stain.

Perhaps, Severus thought, this would be an appropriate time to crack out his Why I Hate Life list.

x.x.x

James Potter loved Christmas.

He loved the pervasive scent of pine needles and peppermint.

He loved the carols, even though he couldn't seem to ever sing them on pitch.

He loved climbing onto his dad's broad, strong shoulders to place the angel at the top of the Christmas tree.

He loved baking cookies for St. Nick with his mum, though he would never admit it and, rather, tended to make a large fuss over the entire ordeal—after all, baking was for _girls,_ and James couldn't let anyone think of him as girly.

That simply wouldn't do.

This Christmas morning, exactly two days before James' seventh birthday and four days before the seventh birthday of his best friend Sirius, James Potter sat at the table, sipping hot chocolate and admiring the new red bicycle St. Nick had given him, as his mum cooked sausages for breakfast and his dad phoned James' grandparents to wish them a happy Christmas.

James smiled as he licked some cocoa off of his upper lip.

He loved Christmas.

x.x.x

"Happy Christmas, Sirius! Happy Christmas, Regulus! Go on, have a look under the tree and see what St. Nicholas brought you."

The brothers ran to the Christmas tree set up in the living room and began sorting through various packages.

"Where are you going, Mum?" Sirius asked his mother as she turned to leave the room.

"Oh—I wanted to get the camera, dear. We'll want a few pictures, after all."

"Oh." Sirius frowned.

Taking pictures.

It was tradition.

His dad would get the camera and he would first take a shot of Sirius, Regulus, and their mum all standing in front of the tree—before the presents had been ransacked by the boys. That would be the "before" picture.

Then, when everything was over, his dad would take an "after" picture—or, the two boys and their mum in front of the tree _after_ the presents had been ransacked by the boys.

In between the "before" and "after" photos, his mother would occasionally take control of the camera and snap a few of the "men of the family" all together.

It was tradition.

All of a sudden, Sirius hated tradition.

"But if you take all the pictures, how are you gonna be in any of them?" Sirius wisely left the entirety of his thoughts unspoken.

She smiled, but Sirius thought it looked different than usual, somehow. Strained? "Don't worry about me, silly. All that matters is you and your brother—as long as we've got pictures of you two, that'll be fine."

She hurried out of the room.

With only the two little boys, the room felt empty and bare, despite the large fir tree and pile of colorfully wrapped presents in the center of the floor.

Sirius bit his lip as he carefully unwrapped a small package with his name on it. Typically, he would be ripping the paper to shreds with a zeal that could only be achieved by little boys on Christmas morning.

This year, though, he just wasn't in the mood.

_I want Daddy!_ he wanted to scream. _Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy Daddy! Come home for Christmas, Daddy! I love you I love you I love you and I'll never ever ever ever be bad again. Please, Daddy, please just come home._

He had asked his mum last week if his daddy would be home for Christmas and his birthday, and she had yelled at him that no, damn it, his daddy would _not_ be home for Christmas or his birthday, and that his daddy was in Africa on business, and that if he ever even _mentioned_ his daddy again, by God, he'd be in time-out until his daddy got home, and _gotoyourroomrightthisinstantSiriusBlack!_

When Sirius' mum came back into the living room, her face was splotchy and she wasn't carrying a camera.

But that was all right, Sirius thought. He really didn't think that he'd want to remember this Christmas, anyway.

x.x.x

"Happy Christmas, Mum! Happy Christmas, Dad!" Lily and Petunia exclaimed as they piled into a heap onto their parents' bed.

It was tradition.

"Why, is it Christmas morning already?" their mum would ask in mock surprise.

The girls would nod eagerly.

"Oh, dear!" she would say. "It came far too fast this year, don't you think, Harold?" She would then nudge their father in the ribs until he groaned. "Your father agrees girls," she would say. "I just didn't have time to enjoy the anticipation of it all. Why don't we wait until _tomorrow_ to open your presents?"

The girls would shake their heads fervently.

"Are you _sure_ you don't want to wait a little longer?" she would ask.

The girls would shake their heads fervently again.

"I really think we should wait, girls," their mum would say.

Then their dad would sit up and rub his eyes. "Oh, let the girls have their fun, Helen," he would say, yawning. "We can wait longer next year."

Their mum would pout. "Oh, all right."

It was tradition.

Lily loved tradition.

"Why, is it Christmas morning already?" her mother asked.

She nodded eagerly.

x.x.x

Peter smiled to himself as he adjusted his miniature, fraying tie and tucked his legs underneath him on the scratchy seat of the car. He thought about last night—Christmas Eve. The Pettigrews always opened their presents on Christmas Eve, and every year his mum gave him and his sisters three presents each. Just like the little baby Jesus, his mum would say, though his sister Mary had once told him that it was really just because they were poor.

Peter didn't think they were poor, though. If they were poor, how could his mother have bought the beautiful little violin he'd gotten last night?

"The case is also secondhand, but it's good and sturdy," Bethany Pettigrew had explained. "And your third present is the music book, so they're all interrelated, really. Now, we won't be able to get you lessons, not yet at least, but I used to play a little myself, so I can teach you the basics. And—well, perhaps I had the wrong idea, but I noticed how you enjoyed that violin concerto on the radio awhile back, and I just thought that it would be _so lovely_ to have a musician in the family—"

But Peter hadn't been listening. He had been holding the half-sized instrument in awe, stroking the neck back and forth and fingering the tuning pegs curiously. All he could think was that there was a _real violin_ right here in his _very own hands_ and it was _his_ and he was going to _make music_ with his _very own violin_.

"You needn't look so excited," Mary had whispered to him as Susanna made a show of attempting to balance the bow—which had come with the instrument—on her nose. "It's the cheapest one they had. Nothing but a shoebox with strings."

If his sister was right, then Peter had never seen a more amazing shoebox in all his life.

The car rolled on and from in between Susanna and Mary, Peter noticed Elizabeth crying in the passenger seat.

"You okay, Betsy?" he asked quietly.

"Y-yeah," she said, voice shaking. "It's just, y'know, every Christmas without Dad—" She broke off into a sob.

Peter nodded. At fourteen, Elizabeth was the oldest Pettigrew child. She had been eight when their father died—too young to lose a parent and too old to easily forget the loss. Mary had been four, Susanna one and a half, and Peter only a few weeks old.

Peter had no memories of his father whatsoever, and therefore missed him very little.

"Aw, cheer up, Bets," Susanna said. "Just think, if Dad was still around, how would we all fit in the car, eh? I reckon Peter here would have to ride in the boot!"

Peter grinned at his eight-year-old sister. Mary scowled. Elizabeth sobbed harder.

"There, there," Mrs. Pettigrew soothed while driving. "We'll be at mass soon. Now let's all try to have a happy Christmas."

x.x.x

Christmas was most definitely Remus Lupin's favorite time of year.

On Christmas, Remus and his mum and his dad would huddle together on blankets around the fireplace and his dad would read the Christmas story while Remus and his mum sipped hot apple cider and sucked on candy canes.

On Christmas, Remus was safe and warm and dry and content. Not just content, even. Happy.

He could forget, sometimes, how stupid and worthless and deserving of punishment he was when he listened to his father's deep, strong voice read about the Magi and Mary and Joseph and the little baby Jesus in the manger.

Remus loved his family on Christmas, and on Christmas it was so easy to imagine that his family loved him, too.

No wedding rings or broken bottles on Christmas.

"Remus, honey?" his mum said. That was another good thing about Christmas. His mother was always up and about.

"Yes Mum?"

"Do you want to help me make the cider while your father starts the fire? We can even turn the radio on and listen to some carols, if you'd like."

Remus nodded eagerly.

He loved Christmas.

x.x.x

**a/n**: Review if you're excited about Deathly Hallows!


	5. A Lack of Suicidal Tendencies

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Five: A Lack of Suicidal Tendencies

x.x.x

Severus had never paid much attention to that creepy place down the street.

Yes, it was creepy, but nothing worth dwelling over. He simply kept himself at what he considered a safe distance—after all, God only knew what dangers lurked in those scraggly dead bushes—and let the house be.

Severus, apathetic though he often attempted to appear, was most certainly no blockhead. He was an observant and inquisitive little boy, and as such tended to notice any sort of variation from the norm.

He had noticed Potter's and Black's regular visits to that house for a good seven or eight months now.

Of course, when it had been only James Potter and Sirius Black running off to do goodness-knows-what at that weird house, Severus had merely scoffed to himself and ignored them. What did he care if the two biggest morons in the world got their kicks from regularly endangering their own lives?

More recently, however, Severus had noticed Lily Evans making frequent visits to that house as well. Lily Evans was a sort of ally to him, considering she loathed James Potter and Sirius Black as much as he did. She often sat next to him on the bus and was quite a pleasant conversationalist. Pleasanter than Potter or Black, at least, considering she possessed an IQ higher than that of the average stick of butter.

And, okay, she wasn't exactly ugly. At all.

Due to her distinct lack of both idiocy and suicidal tendencies, Severus did not see Lily as the type to get her kicks from regularly endangering her own life. The only logical conclusion that he could come to, then, was that these visits on the parts of Potter, Black, and Lily to that creepy place down the street held some sort of significance other than simple reckless endangerment of their personal beings for, as it were, kicks.

Apparently, there was someone living in that creepy place down the street. Sirius Black and James Potter had befriended that someone, and now, it seemed, so had Lily Evans.

He would definitely have to ask Lily about this.

x.x.x

"Oh, I can't believe I never told you!" Lily exclaimed from her seat next to Severus at the front of the school bus. "Yeah, someone lives there—his name's Remus and he's just our age and really nice, but he doesn't go to school with us 'cause he's home-schooled. We're best friends."

"What did you just say, Evans?" Sirius called from the back of the bus.

"None of your beeswax!" she mocked.

"Yeah, well," he snarled, "I think it _is_ my beeswax when you're talking about _my_ best mate."

"He can have more than one best friend!" she defended. "I do—Remus is my best friend _and_ Severus is my best friend. And I know _you've_ got more than one best friend. Remus isn't just _yours!_"

Severus made a face that looked about as close to a smile as he was physically capable of.

Sirius glared at Lily and sneered at the boy whom she had declared to be one of her best friends.

"I'll be your best friend, Lily!" James called from his seat next to Sirius.

"Shut up, Potter!" she cried.

"Quiet down, yeh rotten kids!" shouted Mr. Filch, the cranky bus driver.

"I'll take you to meet him today," Lily whispered to Severus. "You'll really like him. He's nice and likes to read and his—I think—you'll have a lot in common."

x.x.x

"Who does she think she is?" Sirius whispered from in between James and Peter. "Calling Remus her best friend. He's _my_ best friend—_our_ best friend. He's a Marauder!"

"So?" James said.

"_So_ Lily Evans is nosy and annoying and shouldn't get to be friends with him. I don't like her!"

"You're mad, mate!" James exclaimed. "Lily is pretty and smart and—you can't just not like her!"

"Yeah I can."

"No you—hey, Peter," James said, leaning across Sirius to talk to the blond boy, "what do you think? About Lily Evans?"

"Umm—" Peter bit his lip. "She's all right, I guess. I don't hate her but—I mean, 's not like we're friends," he said neutrally, attempting to keep the discord within the group at a minimal level.

James accepted this with a slight frown at the idea of someone other than Sirius _not_ gagging to be friends with Lily Evans, and Sirius with a slight huff at the idea of someone other than James _not_ loathing Lily Evans with a burning passion.

"So," Peter said, breaking the brief silence, "either of you got a good prank for Snivellus tomorrow?"

James and Sirius both grinned.

x.x.x

"Why do we have to climb this tree, Lily? Can't we just go to the door?"

"No. His daddy'll get angry with him."

Now there was a language Severus spoke fluently. He agreed to climb the tree and they settled themselves on a relatively sturdy branch.

"See that window right in front of us?" Lily asked.

He nodded.

"That's the window to Remus' bedroom. Watch." Lily took her hair out of its ponytail.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Is there a reason I'm watching your hair?"

She giggled and stuck her tongue out. "Not my hair, silly. I'm gonna get Remus to come to the window." She pulled the hair elastic into a makeshift slingshot.

_Tink._

"Is that how you get his attention every time?" Severus asked.

"Yeah, mostly," she said. "It works fine, 'cept I'm almost out of hair bands."

The window opened, and Severus watched as the face of a boy appeared above the windowsill.

"Lily?" he called.

"Hello!" Lily said. "This is Severus Snape. He lives down the street, next door to James Potter. Severus, this is Remus Lupin."

"Hello Severus," the big-eyed boy in the window said. "It's v-very nice to m-meet you."

Severus gave a quick nod. "Nice to meet you, too."

"Now we can _all_ be best friends," Lily declared, grinning.

Remus smiled. Severus' lips twitched suspiciously upward.

"Best friends," Severus said, feeling the words roll off his tongue for the first time.

Best friends.

He mouthed the words to himself again as Lily chattered to Remus.

Best friends.

Severus didn't think he'd be adding onto the List today.

x.x.x

_Five friends._

No doubt about it, Remus Lupin was the luckiest boy alive.

x.x.x

"Sirius, you're home!" his mother greeted as he stepped through the door. "You remember Mr. Malfoy?"

How could he not? The man was at their house enough. "Yeah, Mum," he said.

"Good, good. He's in the living room right now. Why don't you go outside and play?"

Sirius sighed. It was always "Mr. Malfoy's here," or "Mr. Zabini's here," and "Go play outside." Now that his mother worked, it seemed there was always someone or another at their house for her to "discuss business" with.

"Mum?" he asked quietly.

"Yes, dear? Is something wrong?"

"No, 's just—Daddy—"

"_Sirius_," she warned.

"Are you gonna have to go on business trips now?" he blurted. "Now that you have a job, will you have to take business trips like Daddy? I don't want you to go, Mum!" Sirius quickly averted his eyes and hung his head, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

"Sirius Black," she said softly but sternly, "look at me."

Keeping his head down, he rolled his eyes upward to look at his mother, who was now kneeling on the floor with her hands on his shoulders, through the black fringe of his hair.

"Sirius Black," she continued in the same tone of voice, "you need to understand something. I will never _ever_ leave you and your brother. I will not be going on any business trips."

"But Daddy—"

"That," she cut him off, "is different. Your father is a pediatrician. I am a secretary."

"So secretaries don't go on business trips?" he asked.

She smiled. "No, Sirius, they do not. Especially not this one. Now why don't you go play with James or someone while Mr. Malfoy and I discuss business?"

"Okay," he said.

He grinned.

_Secretaries_ didn't go on business trips.

x.x.x

Remus shivered as he stumbled into the crisp night air of late March.

The door slammed behind him.

Oh God Oh God Oh God he'd been kicked out _kicked out_ he'd never been kicked out before and it was so cold too cold too _cold_ to sleep outside not outside please God he couldn't sleep outside.

Clarity.

He had friends.

Remus wouldn't sleep outside.

He had friends.

—_out get out get out you're disgusting worthless can't let up with those damned books eh not for a second what fucking good'll they do you read the bible for a change maybe then you'll learn not to be so bloody insolent talking back to me like that honor your father eh still haven't learned that one have you you damned worthless boy damned worthless boy damned worthless—_

His ears rang as his father's shouts echoed throughout the surrounding darkness. He shook his head.

Remus whimpered slightly and ran across the road, illuminated only by the full moon and a solitary street lamp.

x.x.x

"_Lights out, Remus!"_

"_Please, Dad, not just yet."_

"_What did you just say to me?"_

"_Please, Daddy, just let me finish this chapter!"_

"_I_ said, _lights out now!"_

"_Just a few more minutes, Dad!"_

"_Why, you—"_

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

Sirius sat up and rubbed his eyes, confused.

_Plink, plink, plink._

What was that noise? Something—was something hitting his window?

_Plink, plink, plink._

Sirius crept out of bed and pulled back his curtains. There didn't appear to be anything outside—

_Plink._

A pebble hit his window.

Sirius gasped in surprise and he cast his eyes downward to see Remus standing in the Black's backyard, all alone and looking smaller than usual as he hugged himself for warmth.

Sirius quickly opened the window. "Rem?" he called quietly. "Remus?"

"Y-yeah," Remus said, his voice sounding distorted and eerie as the wind carried it to Sirius' bedroom window.

"How come you're here so late?" Sirius asked, concerned. "You okay?"

"I—" but either Remus' voice broke off or the wind failed to bring Sirius the rest of the message.

Remus looked even paler in the moonlight. Even more fragile.

"I'll be right down, okay?" Sirius called.

Remus nodded, though it could have just been the shadows playing with his face like the wind had played with his voice.

Either way, Sirius rushed downstairs, still clad in his pajamas and not bothering to shut the window.

"Remus?" he called again after he unlocked the back door and slipped outside.

Sirius found him sitting in a huddle on the grass in the same spot under the window.

"Remus!" Sirius exclaimed as he approached the other boy. "You all right, mate?"

Remus looked up through shaggy golden brown bangs. "S-Sirius I—" His teeth chattered violently and seemed to prevent him from getting the words out.

"Shh." He helped Remus to his feet and took him inside, wisely closing and locking the door behind him. "We can go to my room, okay? Only we've got to sneak up real quiet or else we'll wake my mum. And we can only talk in real quiet whispers."

Remus nodded.

Sirius led him up the stairs and into his bedroom. The door closed with a soft _click._

"So?" Sirius asked. "How come you're here, then? What's wrong?"

"I—my—could I sleep here, maybe? Tonight?" Remus whispered.

"'Course, mate!" he responded, excited gleam in his eye. "It'll be like a sleepover!" Sirius immediately and conveniently forgot his mother ever forbidding him to have Remus spend the night.

"O-okay." Remus smiled in a strange combination of shock and relief.

"Only I've got school tomorrow, so you'll have to wake up early." Sirius also immediately and conveniently forgot that his mother was the one who woke him up for school every morning, and that, despite Remus' unobtrusive nature, she would probably notice another little boy in his bedroom.

"That's all right," he said. "I n-normally wake up early. To make breakfast."

"That's nutters, mate!" Sirius exclaimed. "My mum cooks breakfast for me and Reg and my—yeah," he finished awkwardly. "She always cooks breakfast."

"Oh," Remus said.

"Anyways, you can have the top bunk—that's where James always sleeps when we have sleepovers—and you can borrow some of my pajamas if you want."

"I—um—thanks." He ruffled his hair. "It's okay, really, though. I'll be fine."

"No, I don't care," Sirius insisted, rummaging through his drawers until he found some flannel pajama pants and a gray cotton t-shirt. "Really." He handed the clothes to Remus.

"N-no I—I can't," Remus said, handing the clothes back to his friend.

"How come?" Sirius asked. "Go ahead," he urged, pushing the pajamas in Remus' direction once again. "Put them on."

Remus, looking vaguely distressed, finally acquiesced and took the clothes from Sirius. "Maybe," he said, "I should—err—go t-to the bathroom? To change?"

Sirius shook his head. "No, it's all the way across the hall, right by my mum's room. She might hear you. Just change here."

Remus was looking less vaguely and more acutely more distressed by the second. "Err—right," he said. "Course."

Remus, Sirius noted, took painstaking care in undressing. First, he took his dirty sneakers off and laid them neatly next to each other on the floor by the dresser. Next came his socks, left and right rolled up and placed inside his left and right shoes respectively. And then he stopped and looked warily at the pajamas which Sirius had placed on top of the dresser for him, tugging on the long sleeves of his wine red shirt anxiously.

"Okay there, Rem?" Sirius whispered.

Remus startled. "Oh—oh, sorry. Fine. I'm fine." He smiled, displaying his fair number of missing teeth.

Remus tugged on the hem of his shirt, gingerly pulling it up, up, up, and Sirius thought he heard something like a gasp of pain emit from the other boy.

"Remus, what's—" And then, as the threadbare t-shirt was over Remus' face, Sirius saw it. Blood. Matted and caked and dried and _scars_, long jagged scars, on his back, his chest, his arms—dear God, all those _scars_. Some were bright pink and fresh and some faded white and looking older than Remus himself.

Remus shucked the shirt off and folded it carefully, placing it on the floor next to the shoes and socks, oblivious to Sirius' concerned scrutiny. Or doing a very good job of ignoring it.

"Remus," he whispered, "where'd you get those?"

Grabbing the cotton t-shirt of Sirius', he turned to face him. "I'm—err—I d-don't know what y-you're talking about," Remus mumbled, not quite looking him in the eye.

"_Those_, Remus!" Sirius exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "Those—those—you're covered in them! _Scars!_"

"It isn't anything," he mumbled again. "I j-just—I'm c-clumsy, really." He hastily threw on the t-shirt.

Sirius looked dubious. "Well—maybe I oughta get my mum and have her patch some of new ones up. They look—"

"No!" Remus exclaimed before Sirius could finish his train of thought. "No—I—I—please don't tell her, Siri, please!

Anyone else who dared to call him _Siri_ would promptly be told off, but not Remus. Never Remus.

"How come?" Sirius asked, eyes wide and confused. He didn't want his best mate to be hurting.

"Because—just—just _please_ don't tell her!" he pleaded. "I have real _friends_ here, Sirius—I don't want to be taken away!"

"You—what? Why'd you be taken away? Who'd take you?"

"If—If you tell your mum or—or any grown-ups," Remus said, eyes big and scared, "then the government w-will come and t-take me away and—and—I'll n-never get to see you again!"

"I won't tell," Sirius said, trying to calm his friend. "I promise—I won't tell anybody. Not even James! I'll never let Guvvermint take you away, whoever that is!"

"It's _the_ g-government," Remus corrected timidly. His voice still shook a bit but his tone was much lighter. "They—well—never mind. You _promise_ you w-won't let the government t-take me? You promise you w-won't tell anyone?"

Sirius nodded heatedly.

Remus smiled. "Thank you," he whispered so softly that Sirius might not have caught it had he not seen the other boy's mouth moving.

Sirius crawled into bed and let Remus finish changing in silence.

x.x.x

"Sirius?"

Sirius stirred from his slumber and turned his head in the direction of the voice.

"Sirius?"

The total darkness was disorienting, but it certainly sounded like Remus. "'S tha' you, Rem?"

"Y-yeah. I'm—I can't—c-can I sleep down here? With you?"

"Course, mate," Sirius murmured sleepily, rolling over to give Remus some space.

"Thanks."

The bed was small and as Remus situated himself Sirius could feel him shivering. "Okay, Remus?" he asked, nuzzling his face further into the pillow and scooting closer to his friend.

Remus didn't respond, but the shivers seemed to melt into the warmth of the little shared mattress and the shaky breathing smoothed between the neatly pressed sheets.

"G'night," Sirius whispered.

x.x.x

"Sirius," Walburga called, cracking the door ajar and poking her head into the room. "Sirius, get up!"

Her elder son groaned but made no motion to do as she had instructed.

She hurried across the room to her son's bed. "_Sirius,_" she said, grabbing the blankets and throwing them back, "it's time to—"

And there was Sirius.

And there was Remus.

The two little boys were sleeping huddled together on the tiny mattress. Sirius groaned again and blindly grabbed for the covers. Remus shivered and his eyelids fluttered slowly open.

What—but—she had checked on Sirius and Regulus both at eleven o'clock last night, and they had both been in their beds—asleep and alone.

Well then.

Walburga quickly scampered out of the room and shut the door behind her.

_Sirius Black, you are about to get one hell of a telling to._

_Just as soon as your adorable little friend goes home._

x.x.x

When she came back into Sirius' room, he and Remus were both completely awake and the bed was neatly made. Odd. Walburga was almost positive that Sirius was completely incapable of making a bed.

Sirius had a nervously anticipatory expression on his face—expecting punishment, was he? _Well he certainly should be, disobeying his mother like that._

Remus wore an anxious, guilty look, as if he had done something terribly wrong.

Poor, sweet Remus. He was clearly not the child at fault here.

"I'm so sorry Mrs. Black!" he exclaimed when she approached. "Please don't punish Sirius it's all my fault I came here even though I knew I wasn't supposed to and please don't hate me I don't mean to be so bad I just can't help it and I'm sorry please don't hate me!" He took a shuddering breath and looked at the floor, apparently ashamed at having blurted all of that out.

"Oh, you poor dear," she said softly, kneeling down to take the little boy's hand in her own. "You needn't worry. I could never hate you. Frankly, I can't possibly imagine anyone hating you—you're such a sweetheart. And you have nothing to be sorry about. My rules for Sirius are just that—for _Sirius._" At this she cast her son a sideways glance. "And therefore it is _Sirius'_ job to make sure that they are adhered to, not yours."

She released Remus' tiny hand and stood up. "Now, why don't you boys get dressed? Remus, you can borrow something of Sirius'. Breakfast will be ready in about five minutes, and Remus, it would be lovely if you'd care to join us. Sirius—"

"I'm not saying sorry!" he interrupted defiantly. "I didn't do _anything_ wrong and neither did Remus!"

"_Sirius Black,_" she warned, "you will not speak to mother in that tone of voice. We will discuss this later."

x.x.x

"Why did you disobey me, Sirius?" his mum asked firmly.

Sirius had just gotten home from a long, boring day of school, and he hadn't seen Remus since he'd walked him home that morning, and for _goodness' sake_ he was not in the mood for a lecture.

"Dunno," he said and shrugged.

"Not good enough. I need to know _why_ you disobeyed me."

"I don't _know_, Mum, okay?" he snapped. "I just dunno. Go ahead an' punish me."

"I most certainly plan to," she said calmly. "But in order for me to give you an appropriate punishment, I must first figure out your motives."

"Well I don't have any mowhatsits."

"Just tell me why did it, Sirius," she said, still calmly but with a slightly aggravated edge to her voice.

"Well I couldn't just leave him outside all alone, could I?"

His mum's eyes widened. "Are you telling me that you found him outside on his own, Sirius? In the middle of the night?"

Sirius nodded.

"Do you know why he was outside so late?"

"I dunno—maybe he snuck out."

"Well," she said, "if he _did_ sneak out, I'm sure his parents will find a suitable punishment for him. As for you—" She paused and sighed. "As for you, Sirius Black, I believe that a two-week-long grounding should suffice. For the next two weeks, you may not watch the telly, you will not receive any dessert, and you may _not_ go to any friends' houses. I won't prevent you from having Remus over to play or for dinner, because it isn't my job to punish him—even indirectly—but the rule remains that he may not spend the night until I have spoken to his parents, which I have yet to do. James may _not_ come over—or anyone else, for that matter. He and your other friends see more than enough of you at school, I'm sure."

Sirius pouted, but otherwise accepted his punishment like a man.

A very grounded man.

x.x.x

"Sirius, dear," his mum greeted as he walked through the door. "Why don't you go play outside with Remus?"

"He can't play today," Sirius said with a distinct frown as he dropped his bookbag in the entranceway.

"Well, Mr. Parkinson is here and—"

"Who?"

"Mr. Parkinson."

"Who is that?"

His mother frowned slightly. "He's—he works with me, dear. He's here to discuss business."

"Oh," he said, comprehension dawning on his face. "Like Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "Yes, exactly like Mr. Zabini and Mr. Malfoy. Now—how long have you been grounded, Sirius?"

"A week," he muttered.

"And you're supposed to have one more week of grounding, aren't you?"

He nodded mutinously.

"Well," she whispered into his ear as if sharing a juicy secret, "I think you've done a very good job abiding by the rules this week, don't you?"

He nodded a good deal less mutinously.

"I think that, in that case," she continued, "I might be able to let you off a little early, no? On basis of good behavior and trusting that you have learned your lesson?"

He nodded without a hint of mutiny.

"Very well." She smiled at him and steered him toward the door. "Why don't you go outside and play with James?"

Sirius grinned from ear to ear and raced out the door, never being one to question a stroke of good fortune. "Thanks Mum!" he called, already halfway across the lawn.

x.x.x

"E, G, B, D, F," Peter murmured to himself as he studied his music book. "Every Good Boy Does Fine. E, G, B, D, F. Every Good Boy Does Fine."

"Guess you won't be doing so fine, then, will you?" a voice whispered in his ear.

Peter jumped. "Mary!" he exclaimed. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

His sister laughed. "Still practicing the shoebox, eh, Pete?"

Peter nodded.

She laughed again, brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes as she departed to the bedroom that she and Elizabeth shared.

"E, G, B, D, F," he continued determinedly. "Every Good Boy Does Fine." Peter sighed. "I will too do fine," he whispered. "I'll show you, Mary. I will too do fine."

x.x.x

"Sirius!" his mother exclaimed. "Where did you get that horrid scrape on your knee?"

"Oh, that!" he began excitedly, eager to share a particularly gory war story. "Well, I was having a go on James' bike—the new red one he got for Christmas, y'know?—and I was going really fast with _no hands!_ Then I ran into his mailbox and fell off, but it was _brilliant_. And I was really brave and didn't cry at all, even when Mrs. Potter put that burning stuff on it."

"Burning stuff?" His mum raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean hydrogen peroxide? Or perhaps hydrochloric acid, from the awful looks of your knee."

"Wha—"

"Joking, dear." She sighed, apparently put out that there was no one around to appreciate her sense of humor. "You ought to try not to be so reckless, Sirius—or so clumsy. I hate to see you hurt."

Clumsy. Sirius gasped, eyes suddenly wide. "I'm not _clumsy,_ Mum, am I?"

She gave him an odd look. "You have a certain knack for clumsiness, Sirius, yes. You and James put together are like a herd of bulls in a china shop."

"The Guvvermints won't take me away, will they?" he asked, slightly panicked.

"The _government?_ Why on earth do you think the government would take you away?"

"'Cause I'm clumsy! The Guvvermints take little boys away for being clumsy!"

"I don't know where you get such strange ideas," she said, "but the government most certainly does not take away little boys for being clumsy. You have nothing to worry about."

"But—Re—err—err—never mind," he mumbled.

"Pardon? I didn't catch that, Sirius."

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Never mind. 'S nothing."

x.x.x

**a/n:** Review if the name Hugo makes you want to vomit (err, no offense if your name just happens to be Hugo. . .).


	6. Bloody Miracles

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Six: Bloody Miracles

x.x.x

Peter didn't exactly have a bedroom.

He slept on the lumpy sofa in the living room, usually. Every once in a while he slept with his mother in her bed, but he could only do that if Susanna slept in Elizabeth's or Mary's bed, or on Peter's sofa. The youngest of his sisters didn't exactly have a bedroom either.

He didn't mind, really. The couch was plenty big enough and he had blankets and pillows and the like. Except sometimes he wouldn't be able to sleep and Elizabeth would wander into the living room late at night and sit down on the floor and cry. Just cry. And the little whining noises she made were really awful sounding and he wanted to get up and hug her and make them stop, only he couldn't because he was supposed to be asleep and she probably wouldn't appreciate the fact that he was listening to her.

And occasionally Mary would cry too. In the living room, when she thought everyone was asleep. But Peter wouldn't be asleep. He would be lying on the couch with his eyes shut not quite all the way and watching Mary and listening to her and wondering how someone so cruel could sob like that.

Well, anyway, Peter didn't mind the old lumpy sofa. Not really.

He just sometimes wished that he could have friends over to his house, like how he often went to Sirius' and James' houses. He didn't think they'd really want to sleep on the old sofa or the hard floor, though, when they had nice proper beds to sleep in at their own houses, and he didn't want to embarrass himself by asking.

Well, a proper bed might be nice, but at least he had the sofa.

x.x.x

Tonight it was Mary.

Peter tried, he really tried, to feign sleep like always.

He sneezed.

"Peter!" she exclaimed shrilly, turning to face the sofa. "You startled me!"

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Suppose I'll go back to bed now," she said sourly.

"No—wait—Mary!"

She stopped. "What?" she spat.

"I—do you—how did he die?" Peter whispered.

Shocked silence.

Talk of the late Mr. Pettigrew's death was practically taboo in their household. Occasionally on holidays or birthdays, Elizabeth would get teary and mention "Daddy," but the man's death was never—_never_—spoken of. Peter didn't know how his father had died, nor had he ever felt that knowledge of the circumstances his father's untimely end was worth the disharmony and grief any questioning on his part could potentially cause. He wondered vaguely how this burning and irrepressible curiosity had taken over him all of a sudden.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" his sister finally said.

"I—I just—"

"Does it even _matter?_" she snapped. "You didn't even know him!"

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, concentrating on stopping the prickling behind his eyes.

"If you really _must_ know," Mary continued as if worn down by such unrelenting insistence on his part, "he was hit by a car. He was crossing the street and he was hit by a car. It was an accident."

"But wh—"

"I don't know! I don't know anything else about it! Now shut up and go to sleep."

So he did.

x.x.x

Evening had already settled in when he found Remus, sitting by himself under the willow tree.

"Hey," Severus said, sitting down on Remus' left side.

"Hello," Remus replied, smiling but not turning to look at him.

"Managed to escape today?"

"Yeah," he said. "Sirius j-just went home."

Severus scowled slightly. "Black," he spat, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "What a jerk."

"He's m-my friend," Remus defended quietly.

"I know."

The other boy ruffled his tawny hair, and as he briefly turned his head Severus suddenly had a clear view of his right eye.

Which was swollen shut and the sickly purple color of an eggplant.

"Your eye!" Severus exclaimed before he could stop himself.

"It's nothing!" Remus said quickly. "I just—I'm clumsy. I—I h-hit it on the b-bedpost."

"Is that what you told Black?"

Remus nodded.

"And he _believed_ you?"

Remus nodded again, looking slightly ashamed.

"What did he say?"

He smiled a little. "He p-pretty much t-told me that I needed t-to try really hard to stop being so clumsy because he d-didn't want the government to take me away."

Severus rolled his eyes. "I don't think I'll ask. You're obviously used to dealing with idiots. If you're going to lie to me, Lupin, you'll have to make it a bit more believable."

"Pardon? I'm—I'm n-not lying."

"Yes you are!" he exclaimed. "I know you are. I _know_ what's going on, Remus. I'm not stupid."

"I—I n-never said you were," Remus said, apparently trying to avoid a quarrel.

"No. But only someone really dense would believe that lie about a bedpost you fed me."

"Lily believed it," Remus said, no longer bothering to deny that he had lied.

"I bet she didn't," Severus said quietly. "Not really. Lily—I think she knows a lot more than she lets on. I—I think some of the things she knows, she doesn't want to, or—or she doesn't know what to do about them. So she just acts like she doesn't know. But—I mean—she can't keep it up forever. She told me once—she said she thought you and me have a lot in common. Sooner or later she'll have to tell you that she knows."

"Knows what?" Remus asked, apparently back to feigning innocence.

"Stop that!" Severus exclaimed. "Look—I'm not going to tell anyone. You don't have to worry about that. I just—just wanted you to know that I know. And, you know, I understand. Just—so maybe," he continued softly, "you're not—not alone. With your secret."

"You mean—"

"Yeah. I—I haven't told anyone, but I think Lily knows."

Remus nodded solemnly. "It—it is sort of nice," he said. "I mean, f-for someone else to know and—and really _know_. You—you really won't tell anyone?"

"Course not!" Severus responded. "I mean—we're best friends, right?"

Remus smiled. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, we are. Thank you."

"For what?" he asked, brushing a strand of black hair away from his eyes.

Remus simply shrugged, a gesture encompassing everything and nothing, because that was something words couldn't quite do.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

"Hey there, Rem!" Sirius called from his perch on the tree branch as the window opened.

"Hello."

"Can you come out today?" he asked.

"I—I don't know. I—don't think so." Remus frowned slightly.

"Aww, _please?_" Sirius whined. "Mr. Zabini's car is in the drive, so I know Mum's busy, and Regulus is no fun to play with."

"What about James?"

"Grounded," Sirius answered.

"I—sorry, Siri. I just _can't_ right now."

"'S okay," he mumbled. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Remus responded. "Yeah, maybe tomorrow."

x.x.x

Remus shut the window and crept across the hall to the door of his parents' bedroom.

He knocked. "Mum?" he whispered, creaking the door open and poking his head in. "Mum?"

"Mummy needs her rest, dear," his mother murmured from the bed. "Go on an' play now."

She slept a lot, his mother.

Remus wished she didn't.

He loved it when his mother was awake. She would play chess with him and read to him. She would teach him arithmetic and make him sandwiches. And on rare occasions, usually if his daddy was asleep, she'd even take him on a drive to the library, or the grocery store, or someplace equally exciting.

Remus climbed into his mother's bed and lay down beside her, stroking the long blonde hair splayed across the shabby pillowcase with his little fingers. "Mummy?" he whispered again.

"Go an' play now, Remus," she repeated groggily, rubbing her eyes.

Remus tried not to look at the dirty beige bandages wrapped tightly around her wrists. "Daddy's awake," he whispered in her ear. "Downstairs. I—I c-can't go outside. Maybe if—if you want to get up, w-we could play chess? Or—or you could read something to me, maybe? Only if—if you want to get up, I mean."

"I'd love t' get up," she murmured into the pillow, putting an arm around Remus and pulling him to her in a sort of tired snuggle. "Just don' think I can right now."

Remus nestled his head into the warm crook of his mother's neck and listened to her breathing even out as he continued to comb through her hair with his fingers.

In the back of his mind, Remus thought he understood why his mother slept so much—why she would sleep forever, if it were up to her.

Remus didn't think he could sleep forever, though. He would miss his friends. He would miss Sirius.

His fingers trailed a path down her arm to his one of his mother's bandaged wrists and he held her limp, lukewarm hand in both of his. He squeezed it gently, then let it fall back onto the mattress.

Remus climbed down from the bed and tiptoed downstairs. Maybe, he thought, he could sneak past his dad and get outside. Maybe it wasn't too late to catch up with Sirius.

x.x.x

Sometimes, when he was too inebriated to be sensible but lucid enough for solitary musing, John Lupin remembered the good times. Because there had been good times, hadn't there? They weren't just confused dreams and drunken hallucinations, no, no. There had been good times.

Sometimes he thought maybe he would sober up, get his act together—there was a kid now, wasn't there? Yeah, yeah, there was a kid now—he couldn't have just been a series of scattered visions, like most everything else. The kid was definitely there.

And if there was a kid, then John was a father. And what kind of Goddamned father stumbled around drunk all the time when he had a kid to look after? Plus, John was pretty sure he was an angry drunk. He couldn't remember much of anything, really, but he had a feeling he was an angry drunk. Or maybe there was just a lot to be angry about.

And there was a wife, too, wasn't there? Had to be a wife. Couldn't be a kid without a wife, could there?

Did _she_ work? John sure as hell didn't work anymore. He had worked, once. In the good times.

He didn't think she worked. So how did they get money?

She had inherited something, hadn't she? The wife. That wasn't a dream, was it? No—not a dream. Just a piece of the good times.

But whatever she'd inherited, he figured it was gone now. Booze wasn't cheap and he certainly didn't go light on it. Not to mention all the other shit he'd gotten into during that time in prison—he didn't even know what half of it was called. Those had been the bad times. Some shit he'd snorted, some he'd smoked, and Christ knew there was always a needle or two sticking out of him.

But he was off most of that now. He'd somehow managed to get off most of that after the bad times had ended.

There had been the good times, and then the bad times, and the years after that were simply haze.

But maybe he should go ahead and sober up, yeah? Get a job, support the kid, whatever it was fathers were supposed to do.

He picked up his old, weathered Bible. He might have read some—like he used to, during the good times—but his eyes were starting to cloud over. He'd make the kid read it later. He had a feeling that he made the kid read it a lot, but that was good. That meant he was doing something fatherly, at least. Something good for the kid.

Not like it would do John any good at this point, anyway.

These weren't the good times, sure as hell they weren't, but they weren't the bad times either.

He took a gulp of scotch.

Haze was all right.

x.x.x

_He walked across the lush, green grass of early June and settled down next to his lightly sweating wife under the cool shade of the gently swaying willow._

_John kissed her round, swelling stomach. "Mwah!" he exclaimed loudly. "That's for you, little Remus John Lupin. That's for you!"_

_Catie giggled and rubbed her belly through the soft cotton of her loose summer dress._

_"And this," he continued, kissing her soundly on the lips, "is for you, Catherine Anne Lupin, light of my life."_

_His wife smiled and sighed softly. "Only one month, John," she said. "Can you believe it? One month until the baby's due. I'm so excited."_

_"Me too," he said, running his strong fingers through Catie's soft blonde hair. "And look at this house—this yard! Beautiful, isn't it? The perfect place to raise a child."_

_"I know," she said. "We're so lucky Aunt Ruth left it to us."_

_He nuzzled his head into her shoulder. "I suppose being a deacon isn't exactly the most well-paying vocation I could have chosen, is it?"_

_"No," she said simply, "but it's certainly one of the most respectable. You work for the Church—nothing could be more worthwhile."_

_He kissed the tender skin of her neck. "I love you so much, Catie. I love you so much. I can't wait to meet our child."_

_She sighed happily. "I can't wait either, John. I absolutely can't wait."_

_He intertwined his fingers with her own soft, delicate ones as they sat together and longed to bring new life to the world._

x.x.x

He had had to wait three more years to meet Remus John Lupin, and by that point it wasn't so exciting anymore.

x.x.x

When James Potter was seven years old, a miracle happened.

The class was taking its final weekly test on addition and subtraction that year when Lily Evans' pencil broke. As luck would have it, the classroom's pencil sharpener had also broken just two days ago and the teacher had not bothered to replace it.

"Oh no!" Lily exclaimed quietly. "Severus," she whispered to the boy on her right, "d'you have an extra pencil?"

"No, sorry," he responded. "I only have this one."

James smiled eagerly. He just so happened—purely by coincidence, of course—to be sitting directly behind one Miss Lily Evans.

He tapped her on the shoulder. "I've got an extra pencil, Lily!" he exclaimed.

She turned around and narrowed her eyes dubiously. "You do?"

"Mhmm." He nodded proudly and handed her the pencil he was holding.

"Thanks, Potter," she said with a minimal amount of loathing.

"Quiet, please, class!" Ms. Prewitt chirped. "There is an examination in progress."

James grinned stupidly. He had lied, of course. He didn't have an extra pencil.

He simply left the second half of the test blank.

He failed.

"She _thanked_ me," he murmured to himself giddily. "Lily Evans thanked me!"

James didn't stop grinning for the rest of the day.

Not even when Sirius slapped him.

x.x.x

When Peter Pettigrew was eight years old, a miracle happened.

"You know, dear," his mother said on the car ride home from a monotonous afternoon of running errands, "you've been so well behaved, and it was quite nice to be able to spend some extra time with you, Peter—I know I'm hardly able to give you children the individual attention you deserve, what with keeping the house up and grading papers during the school year and, well, everything. And so I thought perhaps you'd like to take a short detour before we went back home to your sisters?"

"Detour?" he echoed.

"There's a new music store right down the road. Perhaps you'd like to try out some of the nice violins? Just for fun. I—I don't want to get your hopes up, dear, so you should know that we—I—there just isn't any way for you to get a better violin right now. But it would be fun to try out some of those nice ones at the music store, don't you think?"

_Fun?_ Peter's blue eyes brightened and his mouth curved into a tight grin.

It wouldn't be fun—it would be _amazing._

As his mother perused the keyboard section, Peter played on a rather expensive little violin a tune he had memorized from his new music book—he'd walked the next-door neighbors' dogs for six months last year before he had saved up enough for that book. About halfway through the song, he noticed a rather young woman with long blonde hair watching him from a few feet off. AURORA SINISTRA, STORE MANAGER, read her name tag.

Peter quickly laid down the violin. "I—I'm sorry," he said to the woman. "I—I mean—I know you prob'ly don't want people messing around on your nice instruments and stuff." He looked away, embarrassed.

"No worries, dear," she said, smiling. "I was simply wondering how long you've been playing, and whether or not you've had lessons."

"Umm—a year and a half. And I practice _every day_," he said proudly. "Except sometimes not on Sundays," he added as an afterthought.

"And lessons?"

He shook his head. "My mum taught me some, and I taught myself the rest."

"And how old are you, now?"

"I turned eight last month—May twenty-sixth."

"You ought to look into getting some lessons," she advised. "We offer them here at the shop, you know."

Peter bit his lip. "I can't," he whispered, as if sharing a dirty secret. "Mum says we—we can't afford music lessons."

The woman's gray eyes widened in something akin to understanding. "What's your name, dear?"

"Peter," he said. "Peter Pettigrew."

"And is your mummy here?"

He nodded. "She's looking at the keyboards."

The mysterious store manager quickly departed to the other side of the store.

Ten minutes later, his mother dragged him out of the music store with an excited gleam in her eyes.

"Can you believe it, Peter?" she said as they backed out of the parking lot. "Music lessons! You're going to be taking music lessons. Twice a month, Saturdays at three o'clock, _no charge._ Ms. Sinistra, that lovely young manager, is going to teach you herself. She's fresh out of Juliard, apparently—that's in America, you know. One of the best music schools there is. _Promising talent,_ she said! Said she'd hate to see such _great potential_ go to waste!"

Promising talent.

Great potential.

Peter smiled, unwittingly catching the contagious gleam in his mother's eyes.

x.x.x

When Lily Evans was nine years old, a miracle happened.

Remus sat on the ground in the shade of the willow tree, rolling something between his fingers pensively.

"What's that?" Lily asked as she approached.

Remus opened his palm to reveal a tiny, beige tooth.

"You lost a tooth?"

He nodded. "Last one."

"So you've lost all your baby teeth, then?"

He nodded.

"Well that's great, Remus!" she exclaimed. "You're the first of all my friends to lose all their teeth."

He shook his head. "Isn't really that great," he murmured.

"Why not?"

"I—it's my last one, Lily," he said. "My _last one._ Now i-if I lose any teeth—I—th-they won't just grow back."

She frowned, running a hand through her thick hair. "You won't lose any more," she said quietly.

He smiled reassuringly, though she couldn't quite tell whom he was trying to reassure. "Of course not." He bit his lip. "I—I have something for you," he said, deftly changing the subject.

"You've got something for me?" Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Yeah. It's your birthday today, isn't it? March the fifteenth, I thought you said. I—you're nine years old now, aren't you?"

She nodded enthusiastically, pleased that he had remembered her birthday.

"Here." Remus pulled something out of his back pocket.

"I—what?"

In his hand, Remus held a rubber band ball. A very large rubber band ball—about the size of a man's fist. Made out of what appeared to be hundreds and hundreds of colorful _hair elastics_.

"Those—are those my—"

"They're your hair bands," he confirmed softly. "I—I saved them. I never said anything, b-but you could have just used pebbles. That's—that's what Sirius and James do."

She took the ball of elastic bands, speechless.

"I—I know it isn't really much at all," he continued, "b-but I thought maybe you'd like to have them back."

Lily beamed. "It's _perfect,_" she said, tossing the ball into the air and catching it as it came down. "Just perfect. Thank you."

Remus' mouth curved upward. "You're welcome. Happy birthday, Lily."

x.x.x

When Severus Snape was ten years old, a miracle happened.

"Sev!" Lily exclaimed as she sat down next to him at the lunch table. "Your cheek looks absolutely horrible!"

"Why thank you," he stated dryly. "I'm sorry to inform you, though, that your own cheek looks as lovely as ever." Severus fingered the rather large, purple bruise on his left cheek and winced almost imperceptibly. "Please try to contain your jealousy."

She mock-sneered. "Haha, aren't you funny? No, Severus, really," she continued in a grave whisper. "Are they fighting?"

He rolled his eyes. "They're always fighting."

"And are you _always_ in the middle of it?"

His stomach lurched. "I—Lily, no—you know it's not often. It's really—I mean—it's not often. I'm fine."

"I—I know," she said. "You know I'd never—I wouldn't ever _say_ anything—unless you wanted me to."

"Which I don't," he emphasized.

"Right. Of course. I just—" Her voice broke. "I don't like to see you hurt."

"I—I'm almost never hurt. They just—fight a lot, is all. You know that. I'm practically never hurt."

"But you _are_ hurt," she said. "You are hurt."

Her blazing green eyes implored him with some sort of question—asking him—something—something. Severus raised an eyebrow.

Lily tucked a strand of bright red hair behind her ear and leaned forward slowly, slowly, until her lips were on his cheek, on the bruise, and they were soft and moist and warm and his lungs were exploding with some totally foreign emotion and he was smiling, _really smiling_, teeth and all.

She looked away, blushing. "Err—just—wanted to kiss it better, you know," she mumbled.

"You did," he said quietly. "You did."

x.x.x

When Remus Lupin was eleven years old, a miracle happened.

He was sitting under the shade of the willow tree, talking with Sirius, when he noticed a determined looking young woman in a business outfit walk up to his front door.

She pushed a loose strand of blonde hair back into her plait and knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again.

"Who is that?" Sirius asked, pointing toward the woman.

"I don't know," Remus responded. "Perhaps I should let her in?"

Sirius nodded. "Go on," he said. "I'll wait here."

Remus trotted to the front door, where the young woman continued to knock. "Erm—hello," he said awkwardly.

"Hello, dear," she said, turning and smiling at him. "Might you be Remus?"

"Yes, ma'am, I—I'm Remus," he said. "How d-did you know?"

"Well, Remus, I'm Ms. Amelia Bones, of Social Services, and I'm here on a mission."

His breathing quickened and he swallowed nervously. Social Services. She was from the government. "A—mission?"

"Yes, dear," she responded. "How would you like to go to school?"

"School?" he asked, eyes suddenly round with hope.

"Yes, school. I understand that you aren't currently enrolled in school."

He shook his head.

"Well, starting September you will be attending your local public school. I simply require a word with your parents. Are they in?"

Remus nodded. "You c-can go inside," he said, opening the unlocked door.

"Thank you very much," she said and disappeared into the house.

Remus sprinted back to the Sirius as quickly as his feet could take him.

"Well?" Sirius asked. "Who is she?"

"Ms. Amelia Bones, of Social Services," he said, grinning and breathing heavily.

"Who—of what, now? And what did she want?"

"_School!_" Remus exclaimed. "I'm going to school with you, Sirius!"

x.x.x

When Sirius Black was eleven years old, a miracle happened.

"_School!_" Remus exclaimed. "I'm going to school with you, Sirius!" He threw his head back and laughed in exhilaration. "I can't believe it!"

"That's brilliant, mate!" Sirius responded.

"_Better_ than brilliant," Remus said in a giddy, carefree tone that Sirius had never heard him use before. "It's a bloody miracle!"

Sirius laughed. He had never heard Remus curse like that before, either.

"I'm so happy," Remus stated plainly, amber eyes alight with ecstasy. "I am so happy."

And suddenly there were strong thin arms around him and soft golden hair in his face and Remus was squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and he was squeezing back. Sirius vaguely registered that hugging wasn't exactly the most masculine way for them to express their feelings, but this was _Remus_, and hugging Remus was warm and comforting and it felt like Remus was squeezing some of his own bubbling joy into Sirius, and Sirius could feel it filling his stomach like helium, making him lighter and lighter until he would be nothing. . . but. . . air.

x.x.x

**a/n:** Reviews encourage me to continue neglecting my summer homework in favor of slashier pursuits. Oh, and can anyone think of a good quote for a new summary? I'm getting kind of bored of this one. . .


	7. So Hard to Resist

**a/n:** Just so's youse guyses know, my school has started and therefore updates are now going to be a bit less frequent. Lo siento mucho! Oh, and brownies to anyone who notices that this is the first introductory author's note I didn't just cut and paste from the original, heh.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Seven: So Hard to Resist

x.x.x

"Remus!" Lily exclaimed the morning of the first day of school, grabbing his arm as they boarded the bus. "Sit up front here with me and Severus!"

"Course," Remus said, happy and slightly surprised at the invitation.

"He's not sitting with _you,_ Evans!" A familiar voice reached his ears. Remus turned to see Sirius, scowling at Lily from the back of the bus. "He's sitting back here with us—aren't you, Remus?"

"Erm—" Remus bit his lip, unsure of what to say or do. He had prepared himself for the possible scenario that no one would want to sit with him, of course, but—_multiple_ people wanting to sit with him? Sirius and Lily were both his best friends, of course, but—well—Remus understood that there were probably loads of other cleverer and funnier and better-looking people whom his best friends would rather sit with. After all, Remus certainly didn't _deserve_ to get to sit by anyone.

"No he isn't!" Lily cried. "He's sitting with _us._ He can sit with you on the way home."

"No," Sirius said, "he can sit with us _now!_"

Remus remained silent, running a hand through his hair nervously. They were _arguing._ Over _him._ He felt dark tendrils of guilty pleasure snake their way through his chest. He had never thought it possible that people could possibly desire the company of such a pathetic, worthless little boy such as himself enough to actually _fight_ over him. But here they were. Fighting. Over _him._

"That's not fair, Black!" she exclaimed. "I asked him first!"

Simultaneously, however, anxiety gnawed mercilessly at his ribs. Remus hated yelling and quarrels and fighting of every sort and—oh, no, no, Sirius and Lily were his _friends_ and he couldn't bear to watch them pitted against each other.

"I—I—please don't fight!" he finally interjected. "I'll sit wherever you want to me to! I'll sit b-by myself! Please—just please stop fighting!"

"What? Remus—"

"No, you can't—"

"I'm so sorry, you can sit back—"

"No, Rem, go ahead and sit up—"

"Shut _up,_ yeh filthy rotten kids!" Mr. Filch yelled over Sirius' and Lily's confused apologies. "You," he continued, looking directly at Remus. "I ain't ever seen yeh before, and yeh're all ready makin' trouble. Sit _there,_" he ordered, inclining his head toward the front where Lily and Severus were seated, "so's I can keep an eye on yeh."

The bus driver sneered in a rather intimidating fashion.

Remus nodded complacently with a mumbled, "Yes sir, sorry sir," and sat down nearest the aisle, next to Lily.

Perhaps riding the bus to school wouldn't be as thrilling as he had imagined.

x.x.x

"Sorry 'bout the bus ride," Sirius whispered in homeroom as the teacher took attendance.

"Oh—um—it's fine," Remus replied. "I just—I'm sorry I c-couldn't sit with you."

"Ah, no worries!" he said jovially. "You can sit with me and James and Pete at lunch. So—let's see your schedule, then," he continued. "If we're lucky, we'll have a lot of classes together!"

x.x.x

"And I am pleased to announce," Principal Dumbledore's voice crackled through the intercom, "that next Friday in the cafeteria we shall be holding a dance in celebration of the ever-popular All Hallow's Eve. The dance will last from seven to nine for grades six through eight, and for grades nine through twelve it will last from seven to ten. Feel free to attend in—appropriately modest—costume."

"You hear that?" James said to Sirius, nudging him in the shoulder. "A dance! You know what that means, eh?"

Sirius stroked his chin pensively. "A chance to spike Snivellus' punch with laxative?" he posed after much deliberation.

"Well—that, too, of course," his friend replied. "But what I meant is—I'm going to ask Lily Evans to go with me!"

Sirius laughed roughly. "You're going to ask Lily Evans to—what—be your _date_ to the dance?" he asked incredulously.

"Well—yeah!" James said intelligently. "Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said. "Maybe because of the fact that you've been chasing after her since you were _six sodding years old,_ you freak, and she simply grows to hate you more and more each year?"

"Well, this is _different,_" James assured him. "We're in _secondary school_ now. We've got full-sized lockers and everything!"

"Don't overcompensate, Jimmy," Sirius replied, shaking his head in jest. "Doesn't matter how big your locker is, Evans will still hate you."

"Shut up, you!" James exclaimed, cheeks reddening. "I just meant that—everything's different now, y'know? We're older—more _mature._ And this is—different. I've never asked her on—a _date_—before."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You've never asked _anyone_ on a date before. You're eleven years old, you sod."

"Well, if I ask her to the dance, that'll be like asking her on a date, won't it?"

He shrugged. "Don't see why you want to bring _Evans,_ anyway," he said. "She's such a—such a _teacher's pet_. A goody-two-shoes. With the perfect grades and the constant studying and the way all the teachers _adore_ her. Ugh, it's so annoying!"

"She is not!" James defended. "Besides, Remus makes perfect grades and studies all the time and teachers adore _him,_ and I don't see you calling him names."

Sirius bristled slightly, feeling his proverbial hackles raise. "That's not the same," he spat. "Remus is one of _us._ And this is his first year ever at a real school! He's just—he doesn't want to be behind everyone else."

James grinned. "Whatever. I'm still asking Lily to the dance."

Sirius laughed, shaking the unwarranted tension from his shoulders. "Be prepared to be burned, mate. Be prepared to be burned."

x.x.x

Lily Evans was a very pretty girl. She was not, however, a very popular one. This could possibly be attributed to her penchant for studying and distaste for massive amounts of makeup. So perhaps Lily should have been surprised, flattered, or even excited when the most popular boy in the class asked her on a date—because, despite her intense loathing of him, James Potter was easily the most popular boy in the sixth grade.

Rather, she was very, _very_ annoyed.

And an annoyed Lily Evans was _never_ a civil-to-James-Potter Lily Evans.

Never.

x.x.x

Because of her lack of social standing within the local preteen community, it could be said that James Potter—a _Marauder,_ for God's sake, the _epitome_ of sixth-grade coolness—was not just shocked, but _devastated_ when Lily Evans turned down his invitation to the school dance. It mattered not that she had hated him for as much of his life as he could remember. This was supposed to have been _different._

"B-but—" he spluttered to the other Marauders over lunch, "b-but I'm _James Potter._ How can she _not_ want to go to the dance me?"

"Way to be modest, mate," Peter said with an eye roll.

"Ahem," Sirius piped in. "And I quote, 'You must be kidding, Potter, you arrogant shitbag. Why don't you try again when you've gotten your head out of your arse?'"

"Shut up!" James cried as Remus, Peter, and Sirius burst into hysterics, Sirius' loudest of all.

"And whom did you say she's going with, again, James?" Remus inquired, wolfish eyes sparkling with mischief. "The name seems to have slipped my mind."

"Shut up, you," he mumbled, feeling quite sulky and misunderstood all of a sudden.

"He said," Peter cut in with a smirk, "that she's going with—_Snivellus!_"

And the three non-Potters at the cafeteria table promptly burst into hysterics once more, though the amber eyes of one particular non-Potter darted guiltily across the cafeteria the the table at which Lily and and Severus were sitting, and said non-Potter's laughter subsided rather quickly.

James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Ah, sod you all."

x.x.x

"So," James said, "who're you taking, then?"

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

"The dance, mate! It's in two days. Who are you taking?"

Sirius scoffed. "I'm not taking anyone."

"Oh, please," James said. "Half the girls in the class've got mad crushes on you. Surely there's _someone_ you want to take?"

"Only _half?_" Sirius sniffed as if offended. "I should imagine at _least_ three quarters, thank you."

James laughed. "I'm serious, though. Who are you taking?"

"No, mate, _I'm_ Sirius."

He groaned. "I thought we made an agreement to _never_ use that—"

"Okay, okay! Never again." Sirius grinned. "It's just so hard to resist sometimes."

x.x.x

Peter stood on the 4x4 collapsible platform in the cool basement of the music store, fiddling with the frayed ends of his tie and looking out through blond lashes at the rows of metal folding chairs in front of him. Right now, they were empty. In about twenty minutes, they would be full. Completely full.

Oh good God.

"Don't worry, Peter," he heard a woman's voice whisper from behind him. "You'll do beautifully."

Peter turned to face his music teacher, who sat at the accompaniment keyboard with a serene smile on her face.

"Ms. Sinistra! I—how did you—"

"First recital jitters, yeah?" she said.

He nodded, slightly abashed.

She laughed. "Well, the bad news is that they aren't exactly _first_ recital jitters. They never go away, really."

He gulped.

"The good news is that—ah, well—" The blonde woman bit her lip. "You know, I can't really think of it right now."

He gulped again.

"Sorry." She grinned. "That was supposed to be a bit more—motivating. But you really _will_ do beautifully," she continued. "For one thing, you've been practicing this piece for months, and for another, you really have got talent."

"Thank you," Peter mumbled, feeling the warmth of a blush spread through his cheeks.

"Right, well—I think _that's_ the good news. Go on and get tuned up now—oh, and don't forget to rosin! You're first on the program."

x.x.x

The dance, in a word, _sucked._

James hadn't come.

Remus hadn't come.

Peter hadn't come.

James. If he couldn't go with the most beautiful red-haired goddess of the sixth grade, he'd said that afternoon as Sirius made violent retching noises, then he had decided that there was really no point in going at all.

Not even to slip laxative into Snivellus' punch.

Remus. That one had been predictable, but frustrating nonetheless. His parents let him do exactly _shit_. The only reason he even got to go to school was because Social Services or something had interfered. Five years of friendship with Remus and Sirius hadn't even _met_ his parents. Well—except for that one encounter with John Lupin, which had hardly been pleasant conversation.

And Peter. Now that one was a surprise. He had been _expecting_ Peter to show up. Sirius managed to track down one of his sisters and question her about his absence, to which she responded that Peter was playing in some sort of music recital that night, and that their mum had dropped off her and one of her older sisters—God, how many sisters did the boy _have?_—at the dance on her way to Peter's recital.

Well that had provided some fleeting amusement, anyway. Music recital. No wonder Peter hadn't mentioned his not being able to attend the dance. Sirius made a mental note to tease him about it later.

Sirius plopped down in one of the chairs scattering the outer periphery of the dance floor. which was really just the tile floor of the lunchroom with the tables pushed out of the way. He spotted Evans and Snape dancing—well, Evans was dancing while Snape just kind of stood there and looked smug. And Sirius couldn't even slip laxative into his punch because, really, what was the fun in _solo_ pranking? That and the fact that Snivelly had been steadfastly avoiding the punchbowl for the past _painfully boring_ hour and a half.

Sirius pouted (adorably, of course) despite the fact that he typically did not waste his energy on pouting (adorably, of course) unless Remus was there to grin shyly and tell Sirius to _stop pouting, silly, because I'll be able to come outside tomorrow for sure, and for goodness' sake if you keep that up much longer your face will freeze that way._

He sighed.

The dance, in a word, _sucked._

x.x.x

"Look at Black," Lily whispered into his ear, and it took Severus a moment to register her words as more than just the tickle of her soft breath on his skin.

Severus turned and saw the boy whom he had privately begun referring to as Moron Number One—James Potter being Moron Number Two, Peter Pettigrew being Moron Number Three, and Remus Lupin being Non-Moronic Best Friend Who For Christ Only Knows What Reason Hangs Out With Morons Numbers One Through Three.

Or simply Remus.

Currently, Moron Number One was sitting alone with his lower lip jutted out rather comically.

"What about him?" Severus whispered, despite the fact that Moron Number One was all the way across the cafeteria and even if he and Lily had been speaking into megaphones Black wouldn't have been able to hear their conversation over the music and general ruckus.

But Lily had started the whispering and if he leaned down _just so_ then she had to tilt her head slightly to hear him and—well—she had started the whispering and he didn't plan on ending it.

"Well," she continued, "what's he doing sitting all alone? He hasn't danced at _all,_ and I know for a fact that at least three girls have asked him. Maybe even more—all the girls in our class are suddenly mad about him, it seems."

Severus narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.

"Oh—you know what I mean!" Her cheeks reddened. "All the _idiot_ girls in our class. I should hope you think more highly of me than—_that!_"

His lips twitched upwards and he ruffled her hair gently. "You know I do," he said. "And he's obviously just sulking because none of his little friends are here."

Lily shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. Still, it seems odd that he hasn't danced with _anyone,_ doesn't it?"

"Well," Severus said, "if you're implying that he's a homosexual, then I would have to wholeheartedly ag—"

"Severus!" she exclaimed, not-so-expertly masking a grin behind her hand. "You shouldn't say things like that!"

"I'll take it back when he takes off the pink nail varnish."

She looked over his shoulder in Black's direction. "Is he really wearing—"

"Made you look."

Lily slapped him playfully on the shoulder, laughing.

The bouncing melody rang through his ears and Severus felt himself smile.

x.x.x

During the first few measures, Peter had been jumping with anxiety.

Absolutely jumping.

And suddenly it was as if he had done so much jumping that he simply jumped right off the ground and _flew,_ leaving those bothersome trifles like anxiety behind.

And now, after completing his piece and listening politely to four other violinists, a cellist, two flutists, a bassist and a—what on _earth_?—xylophonist, Peter was experiencing his first ever post-concert delirium.

"Lovely, dear boy," Mr. Septimus Weasley told him, earnestly shaking one of Peter's hands in both of his own. "I must say, the Humoresque was a brilliant choice."

Mr. Weasley had been the deacon at their church for as long as Peter could remember. The not-quite-totally-gray redhead lived three doors down from the Pettigrews and stopped by their house whenever Peter's mother felt under the weather, dropping off his wife's famous homemade chicken soup and checking in on Mrs. Pettigrew and the kids. He was really more of an uncle than anything.

Peter smiled and mumbled a thank-you.

His mother ran up, placing a sloppy kiss on his cheek. "Wonderful, Peter, absolutely wonderful!" she exclaimed. "I only wish your sisters could have heard you. I'm so proud, dear, so proud. Just imagine—a musician in family!"

Peter blushed and urged her away.

"I'm psychic," Ms. Sinistra whispered into his ear as his mother conversed with Mr. Weasley. "What did I say, eh? I said you'd do beautifully. And then—you did. Just like that. Otherworldly powers, if I do say so myself. I've probably got E.S.P. too. What do you think, eh?"

Peter grinned at her and said nothing.

Chances were she knew exactly what he thought.

x.x.x

Sirius Black was twelve years old when he got into his first real fist fight.

"Ahoy there, Snivellus!" he called to the rather sullen boy in the corner of the library who just happened to be sitting next to one Remus John Lupin.

"Sod off, Black," Snape said, not looking up from his textbook.

"And Remmie," Sirius greeted as he approached the square table and sat down on the other side of Remus. "How are you, then?"

"I—I'm fine, thanks, Sirius," Remus said, his eyes widening in a sort of anxious anticipation. "Um—what are you d-doing here?"

"Me? Can't I have a friendly chat with my best mate if I so choose?"

"Um—of course you can," he said. "But this is the _library._"

"And this is _study period,_ is it not?"

"Well, yes," Remus admitted. "But don't you typically wander the halls with James and Pete during study period or—something? I thought you t-tried to _avoid_ the library."

Sirius gasped dramatically. "Me? Avoid the library? When my _best mate_ is trapped inside with only Snivellus for company? Never! I'm here to rescue you, Remus!"

"Sirius, really, I'm not _trapped,_ and p-please don't call—"

"Go to hell, Black," Snape cut in, finally putting down his textbook. "He's my best friend too, and, until you so rudely interrupted, we were _studying_—a concept you've never quite grasped, I'm sure."

"Severus, please, there's n-no need—"

"Pish posh, Snivels," he said. "I've never quite grasped the concept of studying and you've never quite grasped the concept of _shampoo_."

"Sirius, really—"

"Since when did this become a conversation about my personal hygiene habits?" Snape paused and sneered. "Which, by the way, are impeccable."

"Hey, Snivels, don't feel down—your unnatural shininess and hideously protruding nose aren't _totally_ your fault. I mean, I've seen your mum for God's sake, but genetics can only be blamed for so—"

"_Sirius!_" Remus exclaimed. "Really—now, I—I m-mean it—y-you really shouldn't—"

"Hah!" Snape scoffed. "At least _my_ mother isn't a—"

"Severus, _please_—d-don't b-bring that up—"

"My mother's a _what,_ you shitface? What _about_ my mother?"

"_Sirius,_ really—y-you don't need c-call—"

"Well, maybe _you_ haven't noticed the expensive cars always parked in your driveway, or those mysterious businessmen coming and going at the _oddest_ hours, but—"

"Severus—r-really, that's n-none of—"

"What the hell are you saying Snivellus?"

"Perhaps you've heard the term _whore_—"

And suddenly Sirius found himself leaping across the wooden table, pouncing like a jaguar, although his own pounce was a tad less gracefully executed than that of a massive feline.

The fight itself was rather more awkward than Sirius had imagined mid-pounce. Fantasies of holding Severus Snape, the nasty git, pinned to the floor of the library and pummeling him into the carpet until he was an unrecognizable mess of blood and guts—or at least knocking out a few choice teeth—were quickly usurped by the sudden actuality of flailing limbs, badly-aimed and open-fisted punches, and a lot of scratching and hair-pulling.

Sirius was only vaguely aware of Remus' cries of "Stop it! Please—p-please d-don't fight!" and his weak attempts at pulling the two black-haired boys apart.

He was, however, fully aware of Vice Principal McGonagall prying them away from each other and dragging them both by the ears to her office.

"You boys had _better _get used to detention," she cried, "because you'll be there for the rest of your legal childhood if I have _anything_ to say about it!"

Damn.

x.x.x

Sirius came home from school that day wincing. He sported a rather large black eye—Snape had gotten in a least one good punch, it seemed.

He dropped his backpack in the entranceway and rubbed his bruising fist.

"Sirius!" his mum exclaimed as he kicked off his shoes. "What happened? Did you get into a fight? You _know_ how I hate fighting."

"Err—well, yeah. But—but Mum, you don't understand!" Sirius felt that perhaps his mother would be less disapproving if she understood that he had merely been defending her honor. "Snape was—argh, I hate him! The stupid sod! He was saying—_bad stuff_! And about you!"

Walburga Black made a clicking noise with her tongue and the roof of her mouth. "Sirius, dear, I don't care what people say about me and you shouldn't either."

"But he called you a whore!" Sirius blurted.

Oh shoot.

"Excuse me?"

"A—y'know—a _whore_," he whispered conspiratorially.

"Please don't use that language, Sirius."

His eyes widened in shock. "Mum, _I'm_ not the one who said—"

She clicked her tongue again. "I know, dear. Please refrain from using such coarse language nonetheless. It's not meant for polite company. And, like I said, you shouldn't care about what other people say. I don't."

"But _Mum!_ He said—"

His mum placed one hand on his shoulder and the other under his chin. The two were about the same height, now—his mother was a tiny woman, and he had always been tall for his age—and Sirius had no choice but to look directly her in the eye.

"People talk," she stated. "I will tell you this: I love you very much, and I love your brother very much. Everything I do, I do for you. I want both of you to be healthy and well-provided for. I want to be able to send the two of you to college so that you will be able to receive an education that I never got a chance at. I work as a secretary at a law firm. You—you already know all of that, but I just—I hope I'm making it clear. I love you and I would do _anything_ for you—do you understand? Anything. People will talk, but you mustn't let it bother you. And that is that."

His mother was so close, so sincere, and her blue eyes were sharp and piercing. Sirius felt a warm tingling behind his own gray eyes. He tried not to blink.

"I—I understand."

She smiled placidly and released him from her grip. "Good."

Sirius trudged upstairs to nurse his wounds.

x.x.x

John Lupin, Remus had learned, was a rather predictable man. He drank; he got angry. Remus disobeyed; he got angry. He drank _and_ Remus disobeyed; he got _very_ angry.

Therefore Remus had a rather clear idea of what to expect when, sitting at the kitchen table and pouring through his battered copy of _Pre-Algebra for the Precocious Pupil,_ he heard his father call his name.

"Remus!" his father cried from the stained armchair in the living room. "Boy, get over here."

Remus ran a hand through his hair, mentally reviewing every possible thing he could have potentially done wrong between three o'clock in the afternoon when had he arrived home from school and five o'clock in the evening—now. No dinner yet, meaning no dishes. Was he supposed to sweep today? No—surely not. He swept on Wednesdays, and today was most definitely Tuesday. Laundry? No, no, he 'd already done that yesterday.

"Boy!" he called again, this time slightly louder.

"I—I'm coming, Dad!" he replied, hurrying to his father's side. "Yes sir?"

"I've got a question for you, son," he stated.

Remus blinked, confused, and looked into his father's amber irises and slightly dilated pupils. He didn't _seem_ angry. Remus quickly glanced at the coffee table by the armchair and noticed that the bottle of whatever-the-heck was not only suspiciously _whole,_ as in no broken off shards or jagged edges of glass around the rim, but suspiciously full as well.

Well, suspiciously _mostly_ full.

"I—" he began. "Er—a question, Dad?"

"I haven't been a completely horrible father to you, have I?" he asked in a surprisingly warm and cheerful voice.

Scratch. John Lupin was an extremely unpredictable man and Remus had no idea of what to expect. Ever.

"Dad, are—are you o-okay?" Remus asked, unsure of how to reply. He bit his bottom lip.

"Absolutely. In fact, I'm quite chipper, thank you for asking."

Remus was quite sure that he had never in his eleven years of life heard the word _chipper_ uttered from his father's mouth, and this new development left him stymied at best, terrified at worst. This unprecedented warmth on his father's part had skipped pleasantly surprising and headed straight for vaguely manic and suffocating.

"You want to know a secret about your old man, Remus?" he asked, apparently having forgotten his earlier question.

Remus nodded rather cautiously, still chewing on his lip.

"I've made mistakes." His cheerfulness was gone in an instant, tone suddenly grave and face rather serious. "A hell of a lot them. But the first one—the first one was just accident. You know your Ten Commandments, don't you, son?"

He nodded again.

"Good. Because God knew what He was talking when He made those laws. You have to _follow_ them. And you've got to be real careful, you hear? Because _one_ accident can screw everything up. And I don't mean _mistake._ I mean _accident._ Accidents are the worst, boy. Accidents are what you've got to watch out for. Mistakes are easy to prevent, but accidents—well, they're never expected, are they? Mistakes are nothing compared to accidents."

Remus said nothing.

"Did you read Revelations last week like I told you?"

This sounded more like the John Lupin whom Remus knew.

Remus' father often threw the Bible in his general direction and ordered him to read. Remus, due to a strong self-preservation instinct and a stronger instinct to read any and every book printed in the English language, obeyed.

"Um—yes," he said quietly. "Yes sir, I d-did."

"Fine," his father grunted, back to normal. "Then you can start with Genesis today." He took a gulp of whatever was in that particular mostly-full bottle. "Now get outta' my sight."

x.x.x

**a/n:** Review if the chapter title originally made you think of things _other_ than bad Sirius puns. . .

p.s. Thought I'd let you all know I wrote a little Sirius/Remus one-shot called S.O.B. a little while ago, just in case anyone's interested. You can find it by clicking on my pen name.


	8. AlotofsymbolismIthink

**a/n:** Will (eventually) be slash (RemusxSirius). Apologies if that offends you. Oh, and _disclaimer:_ the Marauders, Harry Potter, etc., obviously don't belong to me and I only wish I were making money off this.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Eight: _AlotofsymbolismIthink_

x.x.x

Easter holidays, for Sirius Black, were somewhat comparable to Chinese water torture.

Easter holidays, for Sirius Black, entailed the yearly visit of his mother's extended family.

"Just look at little Regulus!" his oldest cousin Bella would coo. "He's getting more like his mummy each year."

And then she'd turn to him. "Oh, and Sirius!" she'd exclaim. "You look—you're getting to be such a _handsome_ young man."

According to his teenage female cousins and his mother's older sister, Sirius had "such lovely gray eyes!" and "that nice, straight nose—like a little aristocrat!"

Regulus, though, _he_ had "his mum's lovely blue eyes!" and "Auntie Wal's cute little nose!" and "those full lips—his mother's, for sure."

Regulus was his mother's child through and through. And Sirius—

Well, Sirius hated Easter holidays.

x.x.x

Remus was leaning against the trunk of the willow reading when Severus walked up to the tree and took a seat on the ground next to him.

"Hey," Severus said.

Remus dog-eared his page and then laid down the book. "Hey."

"Happy Easter," he said in a less-than-cheerful voice.

Remus laughed. "You certainly do sound happy about it," he said.

Severus gave a tight-lipped grin. "Well, all Easter really means is Easter Holidays. More time away from school. More time spent at home."

Remus nodded, brushing a strand of dark golden hair out of his eyes. "It'll b-be summer soon, too," he said softly.

"Lily might go to camp this year," Severus said. "The—the one she's thinking of, it's an overnight camp for girls twelve and older. Her sister's been twice already and she really likes it, and now that Lily's old enough she's thinking she'll go with her sister this summer."

Remus said nothing.

"It lasts six weeks," Severus murmured.

"That's—that's a long time."

"Yeah." He sighed. "I want her to—to have fun," Severus continued. "I really do. But—_six weeks_, Remus. Six weeks. I'll—I don't know what I'll do."

Remus frowned slightly in thought. "Lily—she r-really means a lot to you, doesn't she?"

"It's just—" Severus ran a hand through his hair awkwardly, black eyes fixed downwards on a light brown tree root jutting from the terrain. "She was my first real friend, you know?"

An image of a six-year-old Sirius Black perched on a branch of the willow and asking him if he wanted to be a Marauder flashed across Remus' mind's eye.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I know."

x.x.x

Easter Sunday in the Pettigrew household was a Big Effing Deal.

Starched and pressed shirt, trousers, and tie for Peter, dresses with unearthly amounts of frill, blush, lipstick, and pin-curled hair for his mother and sisters, a painfully tedious church service in an over-packed chapel, and a midday meal of massive proportions.

As Peter, Susanna, and Mary helped their mother wash and dry the seemingly hundreds of dishes they had dirtied, Peter heard a knock coming from front door.

"I'll get it!" he exclaimed, hastily handing the dish he had been drying to his mother and rushing to the door before one of his sisters had a chance.

Peter swung open the door to find Mr. Weasley, grinning cheerfully. "Hello, my good boy," the man greeted. "And how are you this fine Easter Sunday?"

Peter smiled and moved to let the deacon inside. "I'm fine, thanks. And you?"

"Spiffing, spiffing," he said. "Couldn't catch up with you lot after mass, I'm afraid, so I thought I'd just drop by to wish your family a Happy Easter. Are your mum and sisters around?"

"They're in the kitchen doing the dishes," Peter said.

"Hello!" Mr. Weasley called as Peter led him into the kitchen. "Well, well, Susie and Mary—aren't you two lovely today? And Bethany—looking beautiful as always."

His mother's blush deepened beneath the pink of her makeup. She placed the dish she had been holding on the counter and walked over to Mr. Weasley, giving him a tiny peck on the cheek.

"It's wonderful to see you, Septimus," she said. "And where might your darling wife be?"

"Oh, I imagine about where you were a few seconds ago."

She mock-gasped. "And you _left_ her there? To fend for herself with all those dirty dishes?"

He laughed. "How little you must think of me! I left Arthur with her, of course."

"Oh, and how is Arthur?" she asked. "Didn't you tell me his wife was pregnant?"

"He's wonderful—and I did indeed. We're all terribly excited. And Betsy—still studying abroad, is she?"

Mrs. Pettigrew nodded slowly. "Yes—that scholarship really was the hand of God. She couldn't make it out here to visit this Easter, unfortunately. Air travel is rather—well—" She stopped and turned silent, lips pursed grimly, though Peter had a fairly good idea of what she was thinking.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said, "absence makes the heart grow fonder."

His mum smiled warmly, the tightness in her lips melting away easily. "Happy Easter, Septimus."

x.x.x

James shuffled his feet anxiously and rang the doorbell.

Nothing.

He rang again.

The door opened to reveal the older sister of the most amazing girl in the world. James coughed nervously into his hand and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose a bit. "Um—hello. I'm here to see Lily."

"Lily!" Petunia called. "There's a boy at door for you."

"Be right there!" James heard Lily yell from somewhere else in the house.

"Hello Sever—_oh_," she said when she reached the front door. "It's you."

"Erm—Happy Easter, Lily!" he said and grinned. "I got you some chocolates."

Lily rolled her big green eyes. "You bring girls chocolates on _Valentine's Day_, stupid, not Easter."

"Yeah, well, I tried that already. You told me to sod off, remember? And then you took the chocolates and gave them to Remus."

She raised an eyebrow. "Remus likes chocolate," she stated simply. "And?"

"Well—these ones are _egg_-shaped," James informed her hastily. "The last ones were heart-shaped. Maybe you'll like the egg-shaped ones better."

James handed her the chocolates—dozens and dozens of tiny, foil-wrapped chocolate eggs in a clear, egg-shaped plastic container.

Her hand brushed his for a fraction of a second as she took the candy, and her pretty pink lips quirked upwards into an almost sadistic smile.

He tried his best not to faint.

"You know I'm just going to give these ones to Remus, too, don't you?"

James adjusted his glasses again. "I—well, I sort of figured, actually," he said in an almost resigned tone. "At first I thought I'd get flowers this time instead of chocolates, but I worried you'd just toss them in the bin. Remus will eat the chocolates, at least."

Lily snorted. "Maybe you aren't a complete idiot after all, Potter. Now _please_ go away and leave me alone."

James didn't have to be told twice.

x.x.x

"Look what I've got," Lily said, taking the window seat as they boarded the school bus, Severus and then Remus sliding in next to her, making for a somewhat tight but not entirely uncomfortable squeeze.

She unzipped her backpack and pulled out a transparent, plastic, egg-shaped container filled with what appeared to be a hundred or so bite-sized eggs wrapped in colorful foil.

Severus smirked knowingly as the other boy's eyes widened.

Remus' lips twitched excitedly. "Is that—"

"Chocolate," Lily and Severus said in unison. "Potter gave me these for Easter," Lily continued, reaching over the black-haired boy's lap to hand Remus the chocolates.

"I—n-no, Lily, you really shouldn't," he protested rather weakly, pushing the chocolates back toward her gently. "It's—James wanted _you_ to have the chocolates, n-not _me_."

"Oh, come off it," Lily said. "Take the chocolate, Remus. I know it's your favorite, and I _know_ you don't get it very often."

Remus smiled a little guiltily and took the confection without further protest. "Thanks," he murmured. "You're wrong though—I _didn't_ g-get chocolate very often. If James keeps going at the rate he is now, I'll b-be the size of a baby elephant by the time I turn twelve."

x.x.x

Lily's arm brushed against his as she laughed at some remark he'd made about Moron Number Two while on Severus' other side Remus held a chocolate egg in his mouth with a slightly sheepish countenance.

Severus smirked and wondered how in the world he had wound up sitting squeezed between the only two honest-to-God beautiful people he had ever met.

He'd met loads of good-looking people, of course. Handsome people. Pretty people. Sirius Black, obviously and unfortunately, and to a lesser extent his lackies Potter and Pettigrew. Black's mother, certainly. That girl Alice who sat in front of him in English—no one could deny that she was pretty. Lily's sister Petunia, certainly quite lovely.

But good-looking was all they were. Pleasant facial features and overall physical appearance. Lily and Remus—well, they were simply _different._ Something seemed to separate them from the regular pretty people of the world.

Lily—well, she had those emerald eyes and that blazing hair, and that little nose spotted with freckles, but—that was only enough to make her pretty, really. There was something _else_ about her. Severus couldn't quite pinpoint the something else, but he thought perhaps it was related to her glowing sincerity. When she smiled, everyone smiled, because her smile was bright and illuminating and _sincere._ When she smiled, she was happy. When she frowned, she wasn't. It was simple yet—so rare. People were drawn to Lily, it seemed to him, wanted to get close to her. And she took it all in stride. Well, with the occasional scathing comment thrown in James Potter's direction, of course.

And then there was Remus, who was anything but simple. Remus, who might not classify as good-looking to most, with his frail stature and pale visage. But Remus was an enigma, full of lies, and any outward sign of fragility was apparently one of them. His goldish amber eyes—such an unusual color—were big and scared, but if Severus looked carefully, he could detect a sort of unbreakable strength, an unyielding spirit—maybe even a hint of defiance. Sweet, shy, mysterious Remus was certainly not what he appeared. Severus wasn't sure what _exactly_ lent Remus his beauty—maybe the paradoxes, the contradictions, the fear and defiance in his eyes. Boys weren't even _supposed_ to be beautiful, were they? Handsome, not _beautiful._ But Remus was.

Severus didn't know what he'd done to deserve these great friends—beautiful in equal and opposite ways—but he knew he'd do whatever it took to keep them.

x.x.x

"Jim—did you see that?" Sirius asked from the back of the bus.

"See what?"

Sirius' eyes widened in shock. "Do you mean to say that I just caught you in a moment when you _weren't_ watching Evans?"

"Hey!" James exclaimed. "I'm not _always_ watching Lily."

"Well I guess not," he said, rolling his eyes. "She just handed Remus a big thing of—well, it looked like chocolate eggs. Do you think— "

"No," James cut in, blushing for no apparent reason. "Definitely not. Remus knows I'd pound his head in if he even _thought_ about it."

"No you wouldn't," Sirius argued. "And what's she doing giving him chocolate, then?"

"Remus likes chocolate," he said a little too hurriedly, still blushing. "Besides, _you_ give him chocolate sometimes."

Now Sirius blushed. "I—that's not the same! He's my friend. And—you just said—he likes chocolate."

"Well—so that's probably why Lily gave him chocolate just now."

"But—she's a _girl_."

"So?" James said.

Sirius shrugged.

"Besides," James continued, "if there were anything—you know—isn't it normally the guy who gives the girl the chocolate?"

He scoffed. "Since when has Evans been normal?"

x.x.x

"So—how were your Easter Holidays, then, Pete?" James asked casually as he plopped his lunch tray down next to Peter's at the usual Marauders' table.

"Great," Peter said, smiling. "Easter and Christmas are about the only times we get a decent meal at my house."

And everyone laughed, of course, because it was a joke. Everyone laughed, but James noticed that Peter ate his rather mushy baked potato with a bit more gusto than the other boys.

James noticed that Peter _always_ ate with a bit more gusto than the other boys.

x.x.x

Petunia groaned as she braided her hair for the third time that morning. It had to look _perfect._ Absolutely perfect.

She wasn't sure when she had become so obsessed with her appearance, really. With her soft auburn hair and round hazel eyes, high cheekbones and naturally slim frame, Petunia Evans was nothing if not a pretty girl.

Perhaps it was around the time she had become so obsessed with her sister's.

Because Lily, Petunia had realized sometime in the last year or so, with her blazing red hair and huge green eyes, was prettier.

Lily wasn't just _prettier_ than Petunia, though. That much Petunia could accept.

Lily was—simply _everything-_er. If Petunia was pretty, Lily was prettier. If Petunia was smart, Lily was smarter. If Petunia was nice, Lily was nicer.

At fourteen years old, Petunia Evans was the ghost of her little sister.

She looked in the bathroom mirror and pinched her cheek. Was she gaining weight?

Yes—yes, she was definitely gaining weight.

_Damn_.

x.x.x

The mid-May climate was warm and relaxing, with clear azure skies and trees seemingly everywhere, leaves fresh and young and brilliant green—which a particular Potter boy may have compared to a particular Evans girl's eyes, though any continuation of that train of thought was certain cause a sudden activation of Sirius Black's gag reflexes.

For most boys Sirius' age, the weather was perfect for playing outside. For a particular boy his age and friend of his, the weather was perfect for _reading_ outside.

"What'cha reading?" Sirius asked as Remus lounged in his favorite spot under the shade of the willow.

Remus held up the thin and worn paperback.

William Golding, the cover read. _Lord of the Flies._

"Looks boring," Sirius said flippantly.

"It's—it's interesting, actually," Remus said, amber eyes still glued to the yellowing pages. "It's about these—these boys who get stranded on an island and—well, they go mad, really. Only there's m-more to it than—than just that. It's really all about—human nature and—and c-capacity for evil. There's—a lot of symbolism, I think."

Sirius smiled, but not because he gave a damn about a bunch of fictional boys on an island going mad and human nature and capacity for evil and _alotofsymbolisimIthink_.

He smiled because he gave a damn about Remus and Remus gave a damn about a bunch of fictional boys on an island going mad and human nature and capacity for evil and _alotofsymbolismIthink_.

Sirius wouldn't ever even consider using the words _endearing_ or _cute_ because, after all, he wasn't a _girl_. But—Remus' love of books and reading, and how his essays for school were always at least a page longer than required, and the way he could fit _whom_ into any sentence despite the fact that the word was practically archaic—Sirius would at least admit that it all made him smile.

Honest to God, it all made him smile.

x.x.x

Most of the time she wanted to scream and cry and throw a tantrum.

Most of the time she wanted to kill herself.

She wanted to slice open every artery, every vein in her body and drain guilt and the filth and the _fuckinghellI'mgoingtobesickI'mgoingtothrowupandremembertolookpleasedforGod'ssake_. Cleanse herself of it all.

But she held in the screams and the tears and the tantrums. She held in the blood and the guilt. What would crying do but ruin her mascara? And death was simply not an option—she had _sons_ to care for.

No, no—she held it all in with a polite smile and a cool, light voice and a bit of carefully applied makeup.

But sometimes—sometimes she would bend down to kiss Regulus or Sirius on the head and spring back suddenly, thinking of everything else her lips had touched, and she would run to the bathroom and brush her teeth for a good five minutes. And sometimes when she was in the shower the water would turn cold and she would suddenly realize she'd been there much too long.

_Thirty-one years old, Wal. Thirty-one years old and you're _screwed up.

x.x.x

In Walburga Black's bedroom, there was a dresser. It was plain and made of oak, with two levels of drawers.

In the bottom drawers of her dresser, Walburga kept nothing that, as she would say, was "meant for polite company."

In the top drawers, she kept those possessions that she held closest to her heart.

In the top drawers of her dresser, she kept baby clothes and shoes, construction-paper-and-macaroni birthday and Christmas cards, a few photograph albums which she couldn't bear to open because they contained pictures of her husband but couldn't bear to throw away because they contained pictures of her sons, a wedding ring she hadn't worn in years and planned to pawn in case of a financial emergency, and two tiny ceramic boxes—one with an uppercase "S" printed on the lid, and one with an "R."

Baby teeth.

Walburga picked up the box with the "S" and carefully placed the lid on top of the dresser, fingering through the small teeth of her eldest son's childhood.

All cream-colored and miniature and perfect.

Except for one.

Walburga held the tooth—an incisor—between her thumb and her middle finger. It was cream-colored and miniature and exactly like the other baby teeth in the ceramic box—except for a slight imperfection. A black dot.

There was a tiny black dot of permanent marker directly in the center of the backside of the tooth, differentiating it from the others. From her son's.

Her lips curled into a barely-there frown.

Walburga placed the inked-on baby tooth back into the little ceramic box and closed the top drawers of her dresser, where she kept those possessions that she held closest to her heart.

x.x.x

"What is this shit, eh?" John Lupin cried, waving what appeared to be a thin and worn paperback novel in Remus' face. "What the _hell_ is this I found on the kitchen table?"

Remus caught a whiff of his father's pungent breath and his own breathing quickened.

"_Lord of the Flies?_ You know what that is, boy? _Beelzebub!_ The goddamned _devil!_ What the fuck d'you think you're doing, bringing this satanic garbage into my house?"

"I—it's—it isn't, Dad, r-really. It—it isn't Satanic or g-garbage. Honest! I—it's just—"

"Bleeding satanic evil _shit!_"

His father opened the book and, in one clean tear, ripped out nearly an entire chapter's worth of pages.

"Dad—please—please, don't! It isn't m-mine, it's the school's! I—I can't p-pay for that!"

He ripped out another chapter's worth of pages. "_Satan,_ for God's sake! Fucking evil crap!"

Remus stumbled backward.

John stumbled forward.

Remus bit the inside of his cheek and tried not to notice the malicious gleam of his father's wedding band.

x.x.x

He spat into the sink. He spat again. Blood trickled down the grimy basin.

x.x.x

"Sirius Black!" his mother called. "Sirius Black, come downstairs and pick up these muddy shoes of yours! And you too, Regulus Arcturus Black! I am a mother, not a maid."

Sirius sighed and stood up from his desk, shoving his homework aside.

_Sirius Black._ It was always _Sirius Black._ For as far back as he could remember.

_Sirius Black._

_Regulus Arcturus Black._

Where had Sirius' middle name gone?

(_Oh. Yeah. Africa._)

x.x.x

Remus tapped the top of the old librarian's desk lightly to get her attention. "Ah—excuse me—Ms. Pince?"

"Yes dear?" said the librarian. Most of the students found her horribly strict and uptight, but she seemed to have a small soft spot for Remus.

"Err—" Remus bit his lip. "I—I'm t-terribly sorry, but I seem to have m-misplaced the last book I checked out. Umm—_Lord of the Flies._"

"Misplaced?" she said. "Why, that's so unlike you, Remus! You're usually so careful with books, and prompt about turning them in. Have you double-checked your house? Your bookbag?"

"I—yes," he said. "It's—nowhere t-to be found. I—well—I'm awfully s-sorry."

"Don't worry, dear," the librarian said. "The book was old and bit beaten from what I remember. It will only be a very small fine."

"I—that's what—perhaps," Remus said, "do you think m-maybe you would let me—work for you, or—or something? To—to pay for it. I—I'd do whatever you wanted. I could come in during lunch or—or even stay a-after school."

"As lovely as it would be to have someone helping around here, that really won't be necessary. The fine will be minimal and—"

"No, r-really," he interjected. "I can't—I really d-don't—_please_?"

Ms. Pince frowned, but nodded in assent. "See the that cart?" She inclined her head to a large rolling cart filled with books, which was sitting by her desk.

Remus nodded.

"You may report here, starting tomorrow, during your lunch hour and shelve those books. They're all out of order. It should take you a few days at the most."

He grinned in relief. "I—yes—yes, I'll be here. Thank you so much. I'm s-so sorry about the book, r-really. Terribly sorry."

x.x.x

"Look here, Peter!" his mother called as he, Susanna, and Mary arrived home from school. "Mrs. Weasley dropped off some cookies for your birthday. Baked them herself. Such a sweet lady," she continued. "She and her husband are both so kind."

Peter hurried to his mother, Susanna in tow. "You're not planning on eating all of those by _yourself,_ eh, Peter?" his sister asked, eyeing the large plateful of giant, gooey chocolate-chip cookies hungrily.

Peter shook his head and Susanna grabbed a cookie, shoving about half of it into her mouth. "You're a good brother, Pete," she said with a cheeky wink, mouth still full of cookie. "And Mrs. Weasley's a good baker."

Peter smiled and reached for a cookie himself.

"What would we do without the Weasleys, eh?" Susanna remarked. "Feels like we've known them forever. How long has Mr. Weasley even been our deacon, anyway?"

Mrs. Pettigrew frowned slightly, as if in thought, then smiled. "Just about as long as Peter here has been alive, I'd say."

Susanna nodded.

"Wonderful cookies," Peter said, finishing off his first. "I'll have to tell Mrs. Weasley thanks next time we see her. Go ahead and have one, Mum. I—I'll bring one to Mary."

x.x.x

"But it's the end of the year dance, Rem," Sirius whined as the Marauders sat down to lunch. "None of us came to the Halloween dance but me and it was _terrible_. This time we've _all_ got to go, or none of us at all—and I finally convinced Jimmy, didn't I, mate?" he continued, turning to James for encouragement.

James rolled his eyes. "Convinced, blackmailed, threatened death to my entire family if I failed to comply—same thing."

"See? And Peter doesn't have any stupid music stuff this time and—and you _have to come,_ Remus!"

"I—you know I w-would if I could, Sirius," he warned.

"I know, I know," Sirius said. "_Your dad wouldn't like it_. That's _mad_. He doesn't like bloody _anything,_ apparently."

Remus ran his tongue over the squishy gum in the back of his mouth where a tooth had been just a couple of weeks ago. "I know. It's awful of me but I—j-just—s-sometimes—I just w-wish he were dead," he murmured.

Peter flinched almost imperceptibly and Sirius gnawed at the inside of his cheek and Remus suddenly realized the gravity of his words.

_You're so selfish, Remus! So disgusting and ungrateful. Peter's father_ is _dead and Sirius' up and left years ago. Either one would probably chop off his own arm for the chance to have a father, and here you are, lucky to have a dad at all, and instead of being thankful like you should, what're you doing? Wishing him_ dead. _Disgusting disgusting selfish ungrateful disgusting._

"I'm s-so sorry!" Remus exclaimed quickly, jumping out of his chair. His stomach lurched. "I've got to—got t-to use the loo."

He sprinted out of the cafeteria, leaving behind his lunch tray and three very confused friends.

x.x.x

None of the Marauders attended end of term dance that year.

x.x.x

**a/n:** WTF? Bellatrix isn't an insane bitch?! Come on, I _know_ you want to flame me for that. . .

p.s. I just wanted to say thank you to my anonymous reviewers. I can't personally respond to you guys like I do for signed reviewers, but I thought I should just let you know that I do read and appreciate your reviews _mucho_.


	9. Time Spent Thinking—Minimal

**a/n:** Sorry about the wait, guys. School basically pwns my life right now.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Nine: Time Spent Thinking—_Minimal_

x.x.x

The first six weeks of Severus' summer passed in a mostly painful blur.

"_God, Remus, is it still _June?_"_

"_No, just—they're fighting—you know. Had to get out of the house_._"_

"_So how long has it been now?"_

"_Sod off, Black."_

"_Sod off, Potter."_

"_Has it_ really _only been four days?"_

"_Go to hell, Black."_

"_Go to hell, Potter."_

"_Has it_ really _only been four weeks?"_

"_Fuck, have you got a handkerchief on you, Remus? No—no—looks worse than it is, really. Blood'll clot in a few minutes. Just need a tissue or something."_

"_Today. She gets home today."_

He saw it from his bedroom window: the Evans' car rolling merrily down the street, as if happy to have passengers occupying the backseat for the first time in weeks.

He grinned.

x.x.x

They stood barefoot on the damp green grass of her front yard. She stepped forward and he felt the tips of her toes brush against his.

He blushed.

She blushed.

"Hey," Severus said, running a hand through his hair a little awkwardly.

"Hey," Lily said. She wore a baggy camp t-shirt and a pair of shorts, thick hair pulled behind her ears in a loose, messy ponytail. She smiled.

He wondered vaguely if she had gotten even prettier in the six weeks she'd been away.

"I—ah—missed you," he said, unable to cough up anything cleverer from the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

"Missed you, too," she murmured.

x.x.x

_She's on her toes now, coming closer and closer until all you can see is green and then black and it's funny how her lips are soft and delicate like petals, really, but you're nowhere near lucid enough to be contemplating flowers and names because you're flying, you're bloody flying and you've left behind your mind, you've left behind all coherent thought, but that's okay because this numbness in your toes and this stifled cry of pure emotion caught halfway up your windpipe don't require that coherent thought you've left behind._

x.x.x

_You're a little off your heels now, and you don't think you've seen anyone else with eyes black like his, and you're not sure what that means but you like it, you like the paradox, the passion and cool reserve of the black, and you like how you have to tilt your head a little to the right to keep from hitting his nose with yours and you like the way his perfect bottom lip and his split top one only barely graze against your own, but even that contact scorches like a hot iron, and you think you would stand on your toes until you collapsed, until your feet couldn't hold you up anymore, if it would make this moment stretch just a little longer._

x.x.x

"Ugh," Sirius groaned as he threw his lunch tray down. "_School,_" he said."Why can't it just be summer holidays all the time? What sort of sadist invented _school?_"

Remus simply smiled. "School," he said.

x.x.x

Sirius and James could make fun of him for it, but Peter's favorite part of the school day was orchestra.

He didn't have a lot of friends in the class, necessarily. Most of the students who had opted to take orchestra as their elective weren't exactly what James and Sirius might deem _cool_. There was that friendly bloke Frank in the cello section, but since the cellists sat on the opposite side of the room, his presence did little to improve Peter's situation.

And the conductor was a bit of a joke. A rather tiny man, Mr. Flitwick tended to stand on the podium when he conducted.

He also tended to fall off.

The substitute orchestra directors were not so few or far between.

But, all things considered, orchestra class remained Peter's favorite hour of the day.

Peter spent a minimal amount of time thinking, really. He spent a minimal amount of time thinking and a maximum amount of time escaping.

Because thinking was painful and escaping was exhilarating.

Well, that's what he had come up with, at least. When he thought about it.

Escape.

Everyone escaped, Peter figured.

Like Remus.

Remus studied. Read and learned. Escaped the not-quite-rare bruises and the scars that were just visible when he raised his hand in class and his sleeve slipped down his forearm. And eventually, Peter figured, all the studying would get Remus out of the terrifying house he called home, get him to college, to the University, and he could escape for good.

Well—same with Peter. Same with him. Only he wasn't so good at studying and learning like his friend Remus. But he _was_ good at playing the violin.

So for Peter, it was orchestra.

Solo practicing was fine, of course, but to be a part of an orchestra, to be able to drown himself in the roaring waves of music—_that_ was escape. For one hour a day, five days a week, he escaped his sister's sneers and his crowded shithole of a house and the massive shadow of his father—the shadow that engulfed him, that darkened and chilled his world.

And Peter thought maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that he could escape for good too.

x.x.x

"Petunia!" Lily called. "Pet, I need to take a shower! Hurry up in the bathroom, will you?"

No answer.

Lily hurried across the hall and knocked on the bathroom door. "Petunia?" she said.

She pressed her ear against the smooth wood of the door. That noise—

The door swung open and Lily stumbled forward into the bathroom.

Petunia looked tired. Her skin was pale rather than simply fair, and her eyes were underlined with dark, heavy bags.

Lily frowned, troubled by her sister's visage. "You all right, Pet?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," her sister said. Petunia smiled through thin lips. "Yeah. Fine. Just feeling a bit under the weather, is all. Go on and have your shower now."

x.x.x

"Petunia, love, you've barely touched your French toast," her mother said. "I thought it was your favorite."

"I—it is," Petunia said. "I'm just—not so hungry this morning, I suppose."

"Are you feeling all right?"

"She wasn't looking very well last night," Lily interjected. "Maybe you should let her stay home from school today, Mum."

Her younger sister smiled gently at her from across the table, and Petunia's heart burned with love and envy. She smiled back weakly.

"Perhaps you're right," Mrs. Evans said. "Petunia?"

"I—maybe I will," she decided. "I think perhaps—perhaps I've got a stomach bug or something. I'm a bit fatigued—maybe I'll go just go back to bed."

x.x.x

"Beg," he heard his father say. The cool, collected tone was laced with venom.

"I'm _sick!_" his mother pleaded, her desperately high voice piercing the walls of the house. "I—please, Tobias, _not today._ I've got a splitting migraine and—"

"I said _beg,_ you idiot woman."

"Just give me the pills—"

"_Beg._"

"Just let go of—"

He heard a crack.

A gasp and a whimper.

His insides squirmed.

Severus leaned against the headboard of his bed, plugging his ears with his fingers and chewing on his lower lip. He concentrated on the algebra spread out in front of him.

x.x.x

_x squared plus eight x equals negative twelve don't listen don't listen don't get involved just do your homework x squared plus eight x plus twelve equals zero now factor dear christ the walls are so thin parenthesis x plus six parenthesis i can't hear them i can't hear them i'm deaf i'm deaf parenthesis x plus two parenthesis finish this problem x equals negative six just finish this problem and i'll be done for good you'll be done for good x equals negative six comma negative two you're finished i'm done all done_

x.x.x

"X squared plus eight x," Remus murmured to himself as he sat at the kitchen table. "X squared plus eight x equals—"

"Boy!"

Remus jumped in his chair, startled.

"Boy!"

Remus scrambled into the den. His father lay sprawled out on the armchair, Bible in his lap and drink in his hand.

"I—yes, s-sir?"

John Lupin looked his son up and down slowly, eyes calculating. "How much do you know about your old man, eh? How much do you know really know?"

Remus faltered. "I know—" _that sometimes I want to strangle you until your neck is cold and blue in my hands and sometimes I want to hug you until neither of us can breathe but I'll never be brave enough to do either and you're my dad and I wish I could just hate you I wish I could just hate you. _"Not—not m-much."

"I was in the slammer," his father said. "Three years. Did you know that?"

Remus bit his lip. Was his father having him on? "I—n-no, sir."

"True," John said. "Would've been longer, but I pled guilty. I was a respected citizen once, did you know? A deacon. A good man. And the judge was Catholic, you know."

"I—"

"Rather quick trial, really. Convicted about a week before you were born."

He shuffled his feet nervously.

"Know what I was in for?" There was now a hint of a sneer on his father's face.

"Er—no. No sir."

"Well maybe you ought to review your Ten Commandments then, eh?"

He lazily plucked the Bible off his lap and tossed it towards Remus. It hit his shoulder before landing on the floor with a _thud._

"Well, go on," his dad snarled as Remus knelt down to pick up the leather-bound book. "Go on, then."

x.x.x

Sirius was good at plenty of things, but one thing he was particularly good at was finding Remus Lupin.

Or perhaps Remus was simply good at being found by him.

That afternoon, Sirius found Remus lying sprawled on his stomach under the shade of the tree, book open on the ground in front of him. Its pages fluttered lightly in the cool breeze of late September.

"Hey," he said, crouching down on the ground next to his friend. "What's that?"

"Science," Remus said. "Exam tomorrow. You should r-really be studying."

"Pish posh." He grabbed the textbook from Remus before his friend had a chance to protest. "There are more pressing matters than upcoming tests."

Remus eyed the book in Sirius' hands longingly. "Such as?" he asked.

"Such as, I have decided that we need nicknames"

"Nicknames?"

"_Nicknames_."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I—we're twelve years old, Sirius. What do we n-need _nicknames_ for?"

"We just _do_," Sirius stated. "You and me and James and Peter. We all need nicknames."

"Well—I—I call you 'Siri' sometimes," Remus said. "You c-call me 'Rem.' You—we call James 'Jim' or 'Jamesie' or something of the like. And sometimes we call Peter 'Pete.' So we've really got nicknames already and I can study f-for our test now."

"Those are just _regular_ nicknames," he insisted. "They're boring. We need something—different."

"Different?"

"Different."

"Well—m-maybe we should wait until James a-and Peter are here, too." Remus was clearly grasping at straws now, his eyes glued on the textbook in Sirius' hands. "I mean—they'll want a say in this, don't you think?"

Sirius shrugged. "I think they'll like whatever we come up with or they'll just have to learn to." He grinned wickedly.

And so they mused and pondered and thought and considered and Sirius did not relinquish Remus' science book until well into the evening.

x.x.x

"Hello, Prongs," Sirius greeted James cheerfully the next day at the lunch table.

"I—what?" James said, scrunching his face in confusion.

"I said _hello._ And hello to you too, _Cottontail_," he continued, inclining his head toward Peter.

"I—you've got to be kidding!" Peter exclaimed. "_Cottontail?_"

"It's your new name," Sirius explained quite matter-of-factly.

"I—who came up with this?" Peter demanded in a very atypical fashion. "No way am I gonna be called _Cottontail_."

"Moony here came up with yours and mine," he said to Peter-recently-dubbed-Cottontail. "I came up with his and James'."

Peter glared and Remus smiled apologetically.

"What's yours, then, Sirius?" Peter asked.

"Padfoot," he declared proudly.

James snorted. "Sounds like your feet have got PMS."

"Does not!" Sirius cried. "I think it's _brilliant._"

"What does it even _mean?_" James asked. "What do _any_ of them mean? Well—I think I get Pete's at least, but—"

He began to snicker at the thought of Peter's new name and Peter redirected his glare.

"They're _animals,_" Sirius said excitedly. "Neat, huh? It's like a Marauder secret—nobody else will ever know what our nicknames mean. I'm Padfoot 'cause Sirius is the dog star and dogs have padded feet, and Remus is Moony 'cause Lupin sounds like _lupine,_ and wolves howl at the moon—and we even used to joke about him being a werewolf when we were little, remember?"

James and Peter shook their heads.

"Well—Peter didn't know Rem then, I guess, but _you_ ought to at least remember, Jim."

"Well—so what about Prongs?" Peter asked. "Where did that come from?"

"Well—he's the only one who doesn't really have an animal to match with his name, so we just sort of made something up. Prongs for antlers, y'know? Like a stag or something."

"Not fair!" Peter said. "James' name comes from a _stag_ and mine comes from—from—a _bunny rabbit?_"

"Well—it _fits,_" Sirius said.

Peter pouted. His pouting skills were above average, Sirius would concede, but he didn't think they were a match for his own.

"Maybe we should g-give Peter another name," Remus said.

"But _you_ came up with it!" Sirius exclaimed. "And nothing else fits with his name like that."

"Well," Remus began, "I thought it was funny, but we r-really probably shouldn't—"

"Remus is right," James cut in. "We can't make Pete be _Cottontail_ for God knows how long. Anyway, Prongs doesn't fit with _my_ name."

"_Nothing_ fits with your name," Sirius said. "Me and Rem spent forever trying to think of something that did."

"Well—so there'll be two of us with names that don't go," James said. "Works better like that, anyway. More balanced and whatnot. Besides, if we called him Cottontail, it wouldn't exactly be a Marauder secret, eh? Everybody knows about Peter Cottontail."

"Fine," Sirius said. "What do you propose, _Monsieur Prongs?_"

"I propose, _Monsieur Padfoot_, that we change Cottontail to something less—terrifying. We could keep the 'tail' part, maybe. But the first part—maybe something liike 'worm?' Then it could be for a possum or—or how about a _rat?_ 'Cause rats and rodents and all have got those creepy pink little tails that look like worms. That wouldn't be so bad. We could call him Wormtail."

Remus smiled.

Sirius shrugged and nodded in assent.

Peter rolled his eyes and grinned slightly. "Well—it's better than Cottontail, at least."

x.x.x

"Have you heard what Potter and Co. are calling themselves now?" Severus whispered to Lily during history class.

"Yeah," the girl next to him said. "I don't get it. Padfoot? Prongs? I mean—I asked Remus, but he just sort of shrugged and said it was Black's idea."

"Quiet please!" Mr. Binns called suddenly, then returned to his tedious lecture.

Severus ripped out a piece of notebook paper, scribbled a few words, and surreptitiously handed it to Lily.

_I get the impression that Black's feet are on their period._

She laughed out loud, and the stern look Mr. Binns sent in their direction was, to Severus, completely worth it.

x.x.x

_"It was an accident."_

Six years since Mary had uttered those words. Six years and he still heard them, sharp and clear as a shard of broken glass.

And somehow, six years later, Peter had found himself in he public library, paging through old newspaper obituaries.

"Haven't you got anything earlier than this?" he asked the librarian. "Anything from 1959? June 1959?"

She shook her head.

And that was Peter Pettigrew's Christmas Eve.

x.x.x

"Severus," his father snarled from the kitchen table, brushing a strand of stringy black hair out of his eyes. "Where the hell is your mother? It's nearly ten after seven. I already warned her it would be a rough night if she didn't have dinner on the table by seven o'clock sharp."

Severus' stomach twisted—sort of like what happened whenever Lily kissed him, only so terrifically _wrong_.

Severus grimaced. "You disgust me," he said.

He immediately flinched. What the hell was he _thinking?_ Was he bloody masochistic? Was he _looking_ for a black eye?

Tobias' calloused right hand was half-curled into a fist and a few inches off the surface of the table when he suddenly lowered it back down and unclenched his fist. He laughed.

"What's so bloody funny?" Severus spat.

He immediately flinched again.

His father's lips curled into a cruel, knowing grin. "I said the exact same thing to my father," he whispered. "When I was your age. Exact. Same. Thing."

His father's laughter followed him as he sprinted out of the house and into the frigid evening air of early January. He slammed the front door and crouched down on the cold, sharp grass. The blades cut like hundreds of tiny razors, cut like the laughter trapped inside his skull.

He gasped for breath.

_Happy thirteenth fucking birthday._

x.x.x

"Thirteen, eh?" he said, leaning back against the trunk of the willow, letting the slothful warmth of the July sun soak into his bones. "You're an old man, Moony."

"Oh, hush you," Remus said. "You turned thirteen m-months ago."

Sirius shrugged. "Suppose we'll have to be old men together, then. What do you say to that, huh?"

Remus laughed and when he stopped Sirius felt inexplicably cold. "I'd say I've got no aversions to being old men together," Remus said. "Except that p-perhaps we've got a good fifty years to go first."

"Well, that's all right," he said with an impish grin, "'cause I've gotten you so much chocolate it might take you that long to eat it all."

Remus grinned sheepishly. "Well, you—you c-could help me, of course," he murmured.

"Yeah." Sirius smiled. "I might could help you."

x.x.x

Her sister was thin.

Too thin.

Petunia had always been a slender girl, of course, but in a few short months she seemed to have simply wasted away to nothing.

And it scared her.

"Petunia," Lily or her mother or her father would urge nearly every night, "why don't you eat a little more? Surely you can't be full?"

"I'm really not hungry," she would say, pushing her plate aside. "But thank you for dinner, Mum."

x.x.x

Sirius Black was fourteen years old the first time he got dead fucking wasted.

"Happy New Year!" James exclaimed quite loudly, about an hour and a half before midnight. He hiccupped.

"Yeah," Sirius said. He snickered for no reason. "It'sha good—good thing your parents went on that cruise, eh? Left Bret here to—to watch us. Where'sh your cousin, anyway?"

"New Year'sh party." He hiccupped again.

"Oh." Sirius stumbled toward the front door, carrying a still unopened bottle of beer.

"Where you goin'?"

"Get Rem," he said. "We can—can allsh ring in th' New Year together."

"Kay," James said. "Happy New Year!"

x.x.x

Remus was curled up on the couch reading when he heard it.

Someone banging on the door.

_Shit._

As he opened the door, a rather uncoordinated Sirius Black tripped over the front step and onto him.

"Heh—hey Rem," he said.

Remus dragged his friend outside and closed the door behind them. "Sirius?" he said, leading them across the lawn and onto the edge of the road, under a streetlight. "I—you know n-not to knock on the door! It's n-nearly e-eleven o'clock at night. I—you could've w-woken up my dad!"

"Shorry Moony," Sirius slurred. "It'sh New Years!"

Outside it was freezing, but Sirius' face was flushed and his pupils were dilated and gleaming with something—something—

"Sirius," he said, "have y-you been—drinking?"

"I—maybe," Sirius said. "Me an' James were jush—jusht foolin' 'round. Heh."

Remus stumbled backward.

Sirius stumbled forward.

Remus could smell it on him—that smell, that _awful_ odor, and how dare it taint his best friend, and how dare his best friend taint himself with it?

Remus swallowed. His blood was pumping, boiling, and his jaw was clenched and he vaguely wondered if this was what anger, real anger, was, because it wasn't something he thought he'd ever experienced before.

"Rem?"

He could see Sirius' pungent breath in the freezing night air, could see the fog of stench, the hideous taint.

"Get the hell away from me, Sirius Black!" he exclaimed. Because how _the fuck_ could Sirius do this to him? _How could he?_ "You're drunk. _Completely drunk._ You're—you're slurring your speech and—and tripping all over yourself and—and—I can smell the alcohol on your breath from here!"

"Aw, c'mon, Remmie," Sirius slurred. "_Moony._ I'm jusha little—_tipshee_. Come celebrate the New Year with me an' Prongsh, yeah? Come on to Jamesie's house."

"I can't bloody believe you—with—and—the fact that you'd even _touch_ that garbage—don't you know what that stuff _does_ to people? Don't you?"

"Hah—hah, make'sha feel _good's_ wha' it does. Y'oughta _try_ shum. I got one bottle left, see?"

Sirius held up a beer bottle, which he had apparently been carrying in his left hand the entire time.

Remus grabbed the bottle from Sirius' loose grip and hurled it into the street. It shattered into several pieces, bleeding a pool of shining amber liquid onto the pavement.

"Don't you _ever_ come near me with that shit again, do you hear? _Never again._ Go home and get sober, Sirius. Now."

"Moony—Remmie—I'm _shorry._ I di'n't mean to make you mad. Kish an' make up, eh? He—kish—_kish an' make u-up_."

"Fuck you, Sirius Black!" Remus cried. _Why why why why why how could he do this how could he do this?_ "_Fuck you._ No friend of mine would—would—"

And suddenly his hand was disconnected from his body, from his rational mind, moving completely of its own accord, and there was a fist and—and—it was a backhand, that's what it was called, a _backhand._ And there was that smack of skin on skin and bone on bone that Remus so easily recognized and dear God now Sirius was the one stumbling backward and the right half of his best friend's face was already swollen.

Now _he_ was the Beast.

"_God,_" Remus whispered. "Dear God."

He tried to inhale and choked on his breath.

He ran.

"Rem!" he heard Sirius call into the frigid darkness. "Rem—wait!"

x.x.x

There were exactly two people in the world whom Remus could cry in front of: Sirius Black and Lily Evans.

Which was how he found himself standing at the Evans' front step and pounding on their door at about eleven o'clock at night on New Year's Eve.

He hoped Lily didn't have any friends over.

x.x.x

Her sister answered the door. "Yes?" she said.

"I—is Lily here?" Remus said. His shoulders were shaking and his breaths were shallow and forced. _Please be home, Lily._

"Lily!" Petunia called. "There's a boy at the door for you!"

"Go away, Potter!" he heard Lily call from somewhere inside the house. "I'm not home!"

"Err—could you tell her it's Remus?" he asked.

"It's Remus!" Petunia called.

And suddenly Lily was at the door. "Remus!" she exclaimed, pulling him into the house. "What are you doing here so late? I figured only Potter would be stupid enough to pay me a visit at this time of night. Lucky my parents are at that—wait." She paused, noticing his pained countenance. Her lips curved into a frown, and her green eyes widened. "What's happened? You look a right mess."

"I—" He shivered. "I—I h-hit him, Lily. I hit him."

"You—what? Hit who now?"

He glanced quickly towards Petunia, who was sitting on the living room couch across the hall and watching television. "Maybe—you want t-to go upstairs? And—and I c-can t-tell you the—the whole story."

She smiled gently and took him by the hand, leading him up the steps and to her bedroom.

She climbed onto her bed and patted a spot next to her on the soft comforter. "Sit down," she ordered. "Tell me what what's wrong."

That was when the tears came.

x.x.x

**a/n:** I'll probably change the rating to M pretty soon, just to forewarn you. Love youse guys.


	10. We Didn't Do Anything

**a/n: **School makes me want to activate my gag reflex all over my thousand-pound textbooks of doom.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Ten: We Didn't _Do_ Anything

x.x.x

When he woke up, the year 1972 was officially over, and Remus couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.

He rubbed his eyes and oriented himself. He was fully dressed except for shoes and socks, with a cozy comforter wrapped around his shoulders and a soft pillow placed under his head. There was warm lump of something red and peach lying next to him.

Lily.

Someone rapped on the bedroom door. Remus jumped. Lily stirred and rolled over.

"Lily?" he heard a girl's voice call from the other side of the door. "Lily, Mum wants to know if you're going to be down for breakfast."

A few more knocks.

"Lily?" _Creak_. A head poked into the bedroom. "Lily, are you—my _God!_"

x.x.x

_Oh damn._

Lily sprang out of bed and hurried to the doorway, pushing her sister into the hallway and shutting the door behind them. "Shh!" she cried. "Mum and Dad will hear you!"

"Well maybe they _should_," Petunia said, albeit a bit quieter. "In case you haven't noticed, there's a _boy _in your _bed. _I—you're—I thought he went home last night!"

Lily shrugged. "Well he didn't, obviously."

"How can you—you're _thirteen years old, _Lily. You're way too young to be getting up to—to—I don't even know what!"

"Shh!" she repeated. "We didn't _do _anything! We were just talking and we fell asleep. And I'll be fourteen in two months," she added.

Petunia spared her a dubious glance.

"Honest, Pet! You have to believe me. I would never—_you know_."

Petunia sighed. "Okay, look—I won't tell, all right? Don't worry. Just—you _really_ shouldn't let boys spend the night, Lily. Even if you weren't, _you know_—people talk. I mean, if one of the neighbors ever noticed a boy your age coming in and not leaving until the next morning—"

Lily rolled her eyes. "What do I care what people say?"

"Well _I _care, at least," her sister snapped. "And I don't want people saying that my baby sister is a sl—"

"_Okay._ No more boys spending the night. Promise. But not because I care what anybody says."

"Fine," Petunia said. "I just—I just don't want you getting into trouble, y'know? You—you're my sister."

Lily smiled a little. "I know," she said.

"How are you getting him out?" Petunia asked more gently.

"Out?"

"Your friend—Remus, isn't it? He can't exactly come waltzing down the stairs while Mum and Dad are right there having breakfast at the kitchen table."

Lily furrowed her brows. "Oh, I—I hadn't thought about it, really."

"Well—think about it," her sister ordered. "Because if you're not down soon, Mum'll be up here to check on you for sure."

x.x.x

Thinking about it turned out to be unnecessary, however, because when Lily reentered her room, the boy in the bed and the sneakers on the floor were gone.

The window was open.

There was a note under her pillow.

x.x.x

_Lily, _

_Sorry to run off without saying goodbye. Don't want get you into any more trouble, esp. if your parents decide to come upstairs._

_Thanks for listening._

_Love,_

_Remus_

x.x.x

After shimmying down the Evans' drainpipe, he darted across their yard to his.

Remus slipped into the house quietly and crept upstairs to the shower. He stripped off his dirty clothes and turned on the water as hot as it would get.

His eyes felt a bit parched and the right side of his face was vaguely sore.

x.x.x

Severus heard a thud against the wall.

He flinched and rolled over in bed.

Happy New Year.

x.x.x

Sirius woke on the floor of his best friend's living room with a pounding headache and a rather cloudy recollection of the previous night's events.

"Oh _damn_."

He groaned and stood up. "Hey, Jimmy," he said to the boy asleep on the couch. "Prongs, get up."

James snored.

Sirius nudged him. "Up, you lazy oaf! I've got to get home. I need a shower and bloody bottle of aspirin." Sirius noticed his stale breath and scrunched his nose. "And maybe a bottle of toothpaste as well."

James snored.

"I'll be off then!" he called rather loudly as he walked toward the entranceway.

James snored.

Sirius departed, slamming the door behind him.

x.x.x

James snored.

x.x.x

Sirius snuck in quietly through the back and scurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

His mum's door was closed—_thank God_.

He fumbled through the medicine cabinet for some aspirin.

"Sirius!"

Damn. He turned to see his little brother standing the doorway.

"Where _were _you last night?" Regulus demanded.

"Where were _you?_" he shot back maturely.

"At home with Mum," his brother said. "Just us. Because some people seem to care more about _getting drunk with James Potter _than their own families. You know how she hates to be alone on holidays."

Sirius scoffed. "Well she wasn't, was she? And why even bother _asking _if you already know the answer?"

Regulus sneered and rolled his cool blue eyes. "Maybe I was hoping you had some sort of conscience, at least. Just checking for a speck of guilt somewhere."

"I've got a _damn lot_ of guilt, for your information!" he snapped. "So you can kindly fuck off."

"Whatever. What happened to your face?"

"I said _fuck off._"

x.x.x

"Don't you just love New Year's?" Mr. Weasley said. "Fresh starts and all of that."

Mrs. Pettigrew nodded and smiled.

Peter thought maybe he would like New Year's better if he had a warmer jacket.

x.x.x

The winter sun set as Sirius crossed the street.

The broken bottle was gone.

He slowly made his way to the most terrifying door he had ever seen.

He knocked.

x.x.x

Remus was curled up on the couch reading when he heard it.

x.x.x

"You—you really can't k-keep knocking o-on the door like this," Remus stuttered lamely.

"Sorry Moony," Sirius said. "It's New Year's."

Remus noticed Sirius' face and his insides twisted painfully.

God, Sirius used to have such a _nice_ face. Such a nice face. And he had ruined it, Remus had ruined his best friend's face, and how long until those bruises faded, how long until his face was nice again?

Remus bit his lip.

x.x.x

Remus bit his lip.

Sirius stood on the brink of the doorway, at the edge of this great crevasse that had suddenly come between him and his friend, until he could no longer bear pangs of cold emptiness in his chest, the vast separation.

He stepped forward and took a leap of faith.

x.x.x

_His lips are cracked and sticky-sweet slices of mandarin orange and your first taste is hesitant, hesitant and awkward, but soon enough there's little room for that, little room for hesitancy and awkwardness when your entire mouth is on fire and your bones are shaking, jumping within the confines of your skin and there are teeth and noses shifting and bumping and you're almost positive this painful burning feeling in your lungs isn't just a lack of oxygen because when you pull back and take a breath it doesn't go away and Jesus Christ the sunlight pours straight out of his wide honey eyes and it's filling you, filling you._

x.x.x

_His eyes are dark and smoldering like that guilty pit you hide snuggled deep down beneath your ribs and you're almost unsurprised when the cool pillows of his lips are on your own, but they're warming you from inside out, warming you like the alcohol you've sworn yourself against and you're not sure what to do but there's not much you can do when your organs are rearranging themselves within your body and your blood has become some sort of liquid dry ice, pumping and freezing and burning so much worse than flame, and suddenly your blood is blood again and your lips are yours and his eyes are still smoldering and his lips are red like blisters but you don't even have the decency to hope you didn't burn them too badly._

x.x.x

"I—I'll s-see you t-tomorrow, then," Remus said.

"I—yeah," Sirius replied, nodding dazedly. "Tomorrow."

x.x.x

Remus leaned back against the closed door and buried his face and his hands.

His knees buckled under him and he slid to the floor.

x.x.x

_Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination. _

_If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them._

x.x.x

"Faggots go to hell."

Remus startled upon registering the sinister whisper of the man looming over him.

"Faggots go to hell," John said again.

He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe. "I—I d-don't know what you're—"

His father sneered. "You disgust me."

"I—I'm n-not—"

"Don't think I didn't see that display a minute ago. After all these years of trying to raise you right, teach you the Word of God, keep you from making _my _bloody mistakes, and you screw it all and become a—_faggot!"_

John was yelling now, shouting, and Remus felt the swift kick of a heavy boot in his side—dear Christ _right_ in that soft spot between his ribcage and his hipbone.

He exhaled slowly.

"Aren't even going to get up, eh?" John snarled. "Damned pathetic freak."

Another kick.

Remus let out a soft whimper, but still couldn't bring himself to his feet.

He fingered his side and his lips gingerly, waiting for the bruises to form.

x.x.x

Sirius lay in bed, minutes before the end of the first day of January, restless. He smacked his lips in confusion and something akin to excitement.

And then he heard it. The muffled exclamation.

"Fuck you!"

Sirius crept out of bed silently and tiptoed to edge of the stairs. He could see his mother sitting on the couch, the telephone pressed against her ear and its long cord twisted violently around her arm.

He sat above the living room on the top step, listening.

"No!" she cried. "No, no, no! You can't. I won't let you. I absolutely _will not allow it_. Seven and a half years! Seven and a half years and you have shown absolutely no interest and now all of a sudden—"

Pause.

"Hah! The _money you sent. _There's a laugh. You mean those pitiful envelopes I got about—"

Pause.

"For all you knew we had packed up and left and you were sending it to the wrong fucking—"

Pause.

"No! I don't care. You can't see them. You gave them up seven—"

Pause.

"This is the first telephone call—the first damned bit of contact in—"

Pause.

"Scared? You were_ scared?_"

Pause.

"It's too bloody late for _apologies! _ I despise you. I hate to sound like a melodramatic teenager, but you _ruined_ my life. You're lucky I love my sons as much as I do or you could have ruined theirs as well. As it is, they have to grow up without a father. And I can't even tell them why. I can't even tell them why their father's not here because—"

Pause.

"_No! _No. Don't think I don't know—you ran off with that _freak!_ I know you're living with him now. And I'm too ashamed to even tell them!"

Pause.

"_Sister? _How_ dare_ you? Been fucking your sisters lately?"

Pause.

"You will _not_ establish contact with my sons. I refuse to—"

Pause.

"Yes, I will continue to refer to them as my sons, thank you very much, because they are_ mine, _not _yours, _not _ours_—"

Pause.

"Well you can go to hell, Orion Black! Don't you ever call here again. If I hear from you one more time, I swear to God, I'll take my sons and—"

Pause.

"_Goodbye_."

_Click_.

And now her head was in her hands and she was shaking, shaking, and what were those awful, pained noises coming from his lovely mother?

x.x.x

Sirius ran down the hall to the bathroom.

He purged everything.

Afterwards he felt much emptier, if not much better.

x.x.x

"How old are you now, Pete?" Ms. Sinistra asked. "Thirteen, yeah?"

Peter nodded. "Fourteen in May."

"Fourteen in May," she said. "You're so much more advanced than I was at your age."

Peter blushed and lowered his head, mumbling a bit of modestly incoherent nonsense.

"I'm serious!" she said, grinning. "But don't think a tiny compliment excuses you from _daily practice_, mister."

Peter smiled. "I would never."

"Chin up, then, and let's go over that etude once more. And I'd better not hear that horrid open E this time."

x.x.x

Sirius laughed at some joke Peter had made as he dropped his lunch tray between James' and Remus'.

He sat down and Remus felt his friend's arm momentarily brush against his own.

Remus flinched.

Sirius turned to him, brows furrowed. "Okay, Rem?"

x.x.x

_okay rem it's okay you're not a faggot i'm not a faggot god you're only thirteen years old and you haven't ruined your best friend you haven't turned him into a freak a faggot and it was an apology was all a mutual wordless apology between friends and you can forget about it and move on now because look his face is almost fine again how could you ruin his face you monster you beast no please god no i'm not my father and i'm not a faggot and i could move on now you really could if your stomach would just stop jumping like crazy_

x.x.x

Remus looked into Sirius' gray eyes and no—no, certainly there was nothing abominable there. Nothing unnatural or wrong.

Certainly not.

"Yeah. Okay."

x.x.x

"God, it's cold in here!" Petunia exclaimed, wrapping up in a blanket as she settled down on the couch with her homework. "Don't you want a blanket or a jacket or something, Lil?"

Lily shook her head. "No, I'm fine. Rather warm, actually. Mum's got the heat up nearly all the way, plus there's the fireplace going."

"Well, I'm freezing," her sister said, teeth chattering. "Can't believe you aren't. It's _January._"

She shrugged. "I'm going to get a snack from the kitchen. You want something?"

"Nah," said Petunia. "Thanks, though."

x.x.x

"Hey, Rem," Sirius whispered to the boy seated in the desk in front of his. "Hey, Rem, have you got an extra pen?"

Remus made no response.

"Moony," he whispered a little louder. "_Remus._"

Remus remained oblivious, absorbed in his examination.

He grabbed Remus' shoulder, and it felt warm under his hand through the thin fabric of the shirt.

Remus flinched almost imperceptibly. Sirius quickly snatched his hand away.

"Yeah, Sirius?"

x.x.x

_yeah sirius your best friend is probably terrified of you now see how he flinched how he always flinches he probably thinks you're a freak well fuck you are a freak i'm a freak i shouldn't even be touching him it's probably contagious don't want to pass on the freakishness and why did i ever do that dear god you can't be a freak sirius i can't be a freak no one will love you mum won't love you she won't love me just like she doesn't love dad 'cause he's a sick freak no please god no i'm not my father and i'm not a faggot no you aren't remus is just warm is all and why is he so warm_

x.x.x

"Just—just needed to borrow a pen," he said. "Mine's out of ink."

Remus handed him a pen.

Sirius pretended he hadn't felt his heart jump into his throat as their fingers momentarily brushed.

"Thanks."

x.x.x

"Feeling okay?" Severus asked the girl sitting next to him at the lunch table. "You haven't touched your grilled cheese. Thought it was your favorite."

"Hmm," was Lily's only response.

"Oh. Well then I suppose you won't mind if I just—" He reached out his hand, pretending to grab for the sandwich on her plate.

She slapped him away playfully. "I'm eating that, Sev!"

He scoffed. "Could've fooled me."

"I'm just—I'm worried," Lily said. "About Petunia."

"What about her?" he asked. "Why?"

"It's—she's so _thin_," said Lily. "I swear, she never eats, and when she does I almost always hear her in the—" She stopped abruptly. "And—and she's always cold. Shivering all the time. Why is she so _cold?_"

"Certainly couldn't have anything to do with the fact that it's _January._"

"Hush, you," she admonished, just barely smiling. "I mean—it's not just that, you know? Have you seen her lately? I think—I think she might be sick."

Severus frowned. "Sick," he repeated. "Have your parents noticed anything?"

"I—don't know, really." She rolled her eyes. "They're just so—well, they figure she's the older one and can take better care of herself, I guess. I told my mum the other day I was worried Pet wasn't eating enough, and she told me she thinks Petunia's in 'that dieting phase all the teenage girls go through nowadays.' And then she said she'd try and convince her to eat a little more for dinner that night."

He said nothing.

"It's just—I don't know of any sickness like what's wrong with Petunia. It's like—it's like she's doing it to herself, but she's—_sick_. Have you even heard of anything like that?"

He shrugged. "Short of self-mutilation, can't say that I have."

"Don't joke about stuff like that, Severus. I think maybe—maybe I'll do some research, or something. You could help, if you wanted."

"Certainly." He smirked. "But you know, I'm not terrifically altruistic by nature. Maybe I'd be more inclined if there were anything in it for me?"

Lily grinned and rolled her eyes, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. "There might be."

x.x.x

"Hey—Padfoot?"

"Hmm?"

James frowned. "I—you're okay, right?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah. Yeah, fine mate. Why d'you ask?"

"You've seemed—jumpy, lately," James said. "Remus too, come to think. But that's just how he is."

x.x.x

Petunia smiled and watched herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her hair.

Her hair. It was becoming wispy at the temples. Thinning.

_She_ was thinning.

And that was something to smile about.

Because it was there. So close.

Beauty.

It was just there—_just_ out of reach. But there. She could feel it in the cold that racked her body and the pains that gnawed at her stomach.

Beauty.

Petunia hadn't had her cycle in over six months now. She didn't mind, really. The sight of blood had always made her slightly queasy. Now she just rolled up the sanitary napkins in their wrappers and threw them in the bin so her mum wouldn't notice anything odd.

What she liked was the protrusion of her ribs and hipbones from under the pale skin of her torso. She liked the way she could walk without the disgusting fat of her thighs brushing.

What she hated was that she _really _liked the way she was so much thinner than her little sister.

But Petunia wasn't beautiful yet. She was still overweight, no doubt about it. Her upper arms needed work, definitely—she could barely wrap her hand around one. Her cheeks were rather chubby and she most certainly had a double chin.

But she was close. Closer than she had ever been before.

Beauty was finally a possibility.

Just a few more pounds.

x.x.x

Remus sat by himself in a secluded corner of the library during study hall, book open on the table, when Peter slipped into the chair beside him.

"Hey," Peter said.

"Hello."

"Studying, eh?"

Remus nodded. "English Lit exam day after t-tomorrow."

"_Lord of the Flies,_" Peter said. "Crazy book, huh? Course, you probably read it ages ago."

Remus said nothing, but he felt his cheeks grow slightly warm.

"I was just—you _did _read it before, didn't you?"

Damned traitorous cheeks.

Peter chuckled. "Only you, Moony. And you reread the whole thing for English?"

"Well—I n-never finished it before, anyway," Remus defended weakly. "I only had a—a few pages left to go and—I m-misplaced it. The book. So I didn't know that—that the officer sees the fire a-and Ralph escapes. In the end."

"Well." He grinned. "Thanks for saving _me_ the trouble of finishing, anyway. I think that plus what I actually read should be enough for me to pull a passing essay out of my arse."

Remus laughed.

"D'you know not a single library around here has got newspapers from '59?" Peter asked, apparently out of the blue. He brushed a strand of blond fringe from his forehead and frowned ever so slightly. "June 1959. I mean—not one library. Not one paper. I've been looking all over for—God, ages. Once I even asked _Pince_."

Remus said nothing.

"It's—do you ever feel like—maybe like how you lost your book? Like you lost a real important book before you got to the ending. So you never get to the ending and everyone's keeping mum about it, y'know? No one will just tell you how it ends, and the book is gone. I mean—_gone_."

Remus bit his lip and thought of his father. "Well," he said, "maybe—maybe sometimes the endings aren't—s-so great. Or—beginnings, either. Maybe—it's b-better sometimes when everyone keeps quiet. Nicer just—not to know."

"Well." Peter frowned. "But Ralph got away, you said."

"I—yeah. He did. Does. But it still isn't—s-so great. He's not—_happy, _o-or anything."

"Well," Peter said. He shrugged. "At least he escaped. And at least you know."

x.x.x

Sometimes, when he was too inebriated to be sensible but lucid enough for solitary musing, John Lupin remembered the good times.

x.x.x

_He kissed the tender skin of her neck. "I love you so much, Catie. I love you so much. I can't wait to meet our child."_

_She sighed happily. "I can't wait either, John. I absolutely can't wait."_

_He intertwined his fingers with her own soft, delicate ones as they sat together and longed to bring new life to the world._

"_I'm heading to the grocery," he whispered into her ear after a few more moments of peace. "Have you made a list?"_

_She nodded. "Left it on the kitchen table."_

_He kissed her cheek lightly before standing up and brushing himself off. "Be back soon, honey."_

_She smiled._

x.x.x

"Harold," she whispered to the man snoring next to her. "I can't sleep."

The room was dark and cool and Helen felt a wet bead of perspiration drip down her forehead. It hit the pillow.

Her husband groaned in his sleep.

"Harold," she whispered again, shaking him lightly. "Harold, something is _wrong_. I just—I'm sure of it."

"Hmm?" he murmured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Lily's noticed."

"Lily's noticed—err—hmm?"

"_Petunia. _I know it's—" She glanced at the clock. "—three thirty-two a.m., but really, honey, we've discussed this already. She's too _thin_. It's gotten out of hand. Two or three weeks ago, maybe, Lily—well, anyway, I didn't want to worry her, so I just said—"

"Wait. Now—slow down," Harold said a little groggily. "You say—Petunia's too thin—it's gotten out of hand—and Lily's noticed?"

"_Yes._ I mean, I know it's gotten out of hand when Lily comes up to me and tells me she's worried about her sister. It's just—wrong. Well, and so I gave her some sort of rubbish explanation and tried to ease her mind, but—it's _bad _when Lily's noticing too, don't you agree? And I didn't want to trouble you anymore, but I've been doing everything I can think of—encouraging her to eat, making all of her favorite meals—and cookies and sweets, too, and—"

"Shh." Her husband rolled over and wrapped an arm around her waist. "It'll be okay," he murmured into her ear. "You just don't worry. Keep making the foods she likes, give it a couple of weeks, and if she doesn't gain some weight I'll call a doctor."

"Right," Helen said. "A doctor."

x.x.x

"Hey—Padfoot?"

"Hmm?"

"You sure you're okay?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Don't know why, Prongs, but this feels a little familiar."

James shrugged. "Well—you still seem—I dunno, mate. Off."

"Off?"

"Off."

"Well," Sirius said. But that was all he could say, really. "Well."

x.x.x

It happened in gym class.

"Five laps!" the young coach cried. "Run 'em quick and you'll get some free time!"

And so they did.

And so she did.

Well—no—she ran three and a half, was closing in on her fourth.

When it happened.

When her legs grew heavy and amorphous like clay, when the sun suddenly disappeared and the world grew hazy and dark, when she blinked once, twice, thrice, but each time her surroundings only became darker, more distant, when the shrill of the whistle grew far off and haunting, when she tried to sit down and close her eyes and catch her breath but instead found herself stumbling backward, backward, unable to stop her crazy heavy legs and with nothing to cling to—

That was when Petunia fell.

x.x.x

**a/n: ** Dear readers, I love you. Sincerely, me. p.s. Please write back.


	11. The Devil Was Created

**a/n: **Happy belated Thanksgiving if you're in the States. Next update probably won't come until around Christmas, sorry, due to the fact that I have freaking _exams_ to pass between now and then.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Chapter Eleven: The Devil Was Created

x.x.x

She dropped the telephone.

They'd been planning on calling a doctor—for God's sake, they'd been planning on calling a _doctor_. Just tomorrow. Tomorrow or the day after or—or—and now—

Fuck.

"Mrs. Evans?" she heard Minerva McGonagall say into the carpet, the woman's voice muffled and distant. "Helen, are you—? Oh, I do so hate to be the bearer of bad news—I—well then—goodbye."

_Click._

_Beeeep._

x.x.x

They'd been planning on calling a doctor.

x.x.x

Lily was sitting in history when she heard her name over the school wide intercom.

"Miss Lily Evans," blared the voice of Vice Principal McGonagall. The room went silent—even Mr. Binns took a break from his typical droning. "Miss Lily Evans, please report to the front office immediately. I repeat: Miss Lily Evans, please report to the front office immediately."

The intercom went dead. Binns cleared his throat and picked up his monotonous lecture.

"Ooh," Sirius Black taunted from the back of the classroom. "Miss Lily Evans is in trouble."

Severus tapped her on the shoulder. _What is it?_ he mouthed. _Something wrong?_

She shrugged.

x.x.x

She found her father and Vice Principal McGonagall waiting for her in the front office, somber-faced and silent.

"Coach Hooch has informed me of some grave news," said McGonagall.

Lily bit her lip and tried not to remember that her sister had gym with Coach Hooch during the same period Lily had history with Binns.

"Your sister Petunia—fainted—while running laps in gym class this afternoon. She was—breathing—when the ambulance arrived." McGonagall cleared her throat. "Needless to say, however, her condition is—extremely fragile."

"Ambulance?" Lily said weakly. "I—when?"

"It arrived about fifteen minutes ago. We telephoned your home and notified your mother."

"Where is she? Where's Mum?"

Her father coughed into his hand and turned to address her. His hazel eyes were wide and wet.

"Your mum called me at the office," he said. "She told me what happened and said to—to pick you up from school."

"But—where's Mum?"

"St. George's hospi—" His voice cracked and he coughed into his hand once more. "St. George's hospital, by now, I'd imagine. We're to meet her there as soon as possible."

"You've been excused from the rest of your afternoon classes," McGonagall added.

Lily nodded dumbly. "I—I'll just get the—my other books, then, and—er—we can go."

x.x.x

Lily bit her lip and took a shaky breath.

She'd been planning on doing research.

x.x.x

"_I'm heading to the grocery," he whispered into her ear after a few more moments of peace. "Have you made a list?"_

_She nodded. "Left it on the kitchen table."_

_He kissed her cheek lightly before standing up and brushing himself off. "Be back soon, honey."_

_She smiled._

_He went into the kitchen. Pocketed Catie's list and grabbed the car keys._

_He hopped into the old red Volkswagen, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway_.

x.x.x

Petunia woke up wishing she hadn't.

She found herself in a small, sterile cot in the middle of a small, sterile room. She blinked and saw her family crowded around her.

"Oh, Petunia, you're awake!" her mother exclaimed, scooting her metal folding chair closer to the cot. "We've all been so worried. Grade I concussion, Dr. Patil said, from when your skull hit the pavement. The mildest form, but because you'd apparently fallen unconscious before the impact_—_"

"I'll alert the doctor," her father murmured, standing. "Let him know you're up."

He briskly left the room.

Her sister said nothing, merely watched her with scared green eyes.

While her mother continued the nervous babble, Petunia noticed a tiny stinging sensation in her right forearm.

"What's this?" she interrupted, lifting her arm slightly and indicating toward some sort of contraption. "It isn't—"

"IV," her mum said quickly. "That device taped to your arm is called a catheter."

"What for?" she demanded, still slightly dazed.

"Dr. Patil diagnosed you as suffering from _severe_ malnutrition. Dangerously underweight, he said. That's—"

"Wait," she interrupted again. "Is this—this thing is—forcing food into me?"

"I wouldn't necessarily—" Her mother faltered, then nodded. "Well, in essence."

Her father reentered the room, a dark-skinned young doctor following close behind. The doctor approached her cot, gently smiling. "Awake, I see," he said. He adjusted his glasses and balanced a clipboard on his left forearm. "How are you feeling, Miss Evans? Experiencing confusion? Any pain?"

Petunia glanced at the doctor—the young, gently smiling doctor. She glanced at her sister—her sister with those scared green eyes—and then at her parents, her mum still seated on the folding chair, tapping a finger on her leg anxiously, her father running a hand through his graying hair and staring at his shoelaces.

Her eyes shifted from left to right. To the IV—the catheter and the thin plastic tubes and the little hanging pouch of what was, in essence, food. She could feel the _ugly _forcing its way into her bloodstream, drop by drop. Fat and _ugly _dripping into her body via this bulging blue vein in her skeleton-thin arm. All her hard work _ruined, _and beauty now merely a distant idea, a cold abstraction.

Petunia shivered.

"_Confusion, Miss Evans? Disorientation? Any pain at all?"_

She looked back at the doctor and her family and burst into tears.

x.x.x

"I'll need a psychiatrist to perform an analysis before I can confirm anything, of course, but as of now it appears to be a case of anorexia nervosa," explained the doctor.

Helen sat in Dr. Patil's office, clutching her husband's hand. "I'm sorry," she said, "but I've never heard—what s—anorexia nervosa, did you say?"

"Yes. It's relatively new, but on the rise, it seems," he replied. "For the most part it affects teenage girls, but male cases, while much rarer, are not completely unheard of. I am sorry to say that not a lot of research has been conducted yet on—on anorexia nervosa. You say Petunia has been dieting excessively?"

"Yes. We've been trying to—well, yes. Dieting very excessively."

Dr. Patil nodded. "Thinning hair? Constantly chilly?"

She nodded.

"And you have no idea when she had her last menstrual cycle?"

Helen frowned and shook her head. "She—I always just—I suppose I don't know."

"I'll have to question her later, of course, when the effects of the concussion have completely worn off and she's feeling up to it. If it is anorexia nervosa, though, we will not be able to offer any medical treatment."

"No medical treatment?" Harold spoke up.

"I'm terrifically sorry to say that as of now there exists no medical treatment for anorexia nervosa. Of course, because she is so dangerously underweight, we cannot release her from the hospital immediately. However, I suspect that only a psychiatrist will be able to help your daughter get to the root of her problem."

"Psychiatrist?" Harold said. "But those are—for _mental _problems. My daughter is a sensible and intelligent young woman. I'm quite sure she has no mental deficiencies."

"No, of course not, Mr. Evans. Anorexia nervosa, from what little I can say with any authority, is not any sort of 'mental deficiency.' However, it does seem to stem from psychological rather than physical problems. It causes the afflicted to starve him or herself willingly, which is why we are unable to offer simple medical treatment. There is no 'cure' in the usual sense of the term."

Helen bit her lip. "No cure?" she whispered.

"The cure," her husband said, "is for us to step up as her parents and start making her fucking _eat_. If this—anorexia nervosa—is keeping Petunia from eating on her own, making her starve herself, I'll bloody shovel the food down her throat myself if that's what it takes. I—_whatever _it takes, by God, I'll do it."

"What it will likely take," said Dr. Patil, "is intensive therapy, along with an extremely patient and supportive family."

x.x.x

_He went into the kitchen. Pocketed Catie's list and grabbed the car keys._

_He hopped into the old red Volkswagen, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway_.

_John turned on the radio and hummed under his breath as he made the smooth, familiar drive to the grocery._

_He reached into his right pocket for the grocery list about four blocks from his destination, and his hand came out empty._

_He rummaged through his pocket again, and his hand came out empty again._

"_Where's the darned list?" he murmured._

_Two blocks from his destination._

x.x.x

"Please take it out," she said.

The doctor frowned. "Excuse me, Miss Evans?"

She lifted her right arm. "_This,_" she said. "I—_please _can't you just take it out? I'll eat, I swear I'll eat, but _this thing_ is—you don't understand—I've worked so hard and it's just—and I know my family only wants to do what's best for me, but—"

"I'm sorry, Miss Evans," he said, shaking his head. "But it would be a serious disservice to you were I to take out your catheter. Want to know a secret?" he whispered.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"That IV—that catheter—right now, it's keeping you alive. I promise to take it out when your body doesn't need it anymore, okay?"

"Okay," she murmured.

x.x.x

Petunia fainted on 7 February, 1973. She turned sixteen on 11 February, 1973.

x.x.x

"Happy birthday," Lily whispered as her sister sat on the little hospital bed, buried in wrapping paper and scotch tape and three pretty dresses just _one_size too big and one pretty dress just the right size. "How're you feeling?"

"Wonderful, of course," her tiny, emaciated sister replied, pulling her lips into a smile. "How else are you supposed to feel on your sixteenth birthday?"

Lily tried not to grin like a maniac when her sister took a bite of her "Sweet Sixteen" devil's food birthday cake.

Only one bite, though.

One whole bite, though.

Petunia was already sixteen years old and very big and brave.

x.x.x

_John turned on the radio and hummed under his breath as he made the smooth, familiar drive to the grocery._

_He reached into his right pocket for the grocery list about four blocks from his destination, and his hand came out empty._

_He rummaged through his pocket again, and his hand came out empty again._

"_Where's the darned list?" he murmured._

_Two blocks from his destination._

_John ducked his head and pulled his pocket inside out. Out fell a pack of gum, no list yet, a bit of spare change, no list yet—_

THUMP. _That was a sound John would remember for the rest of his life. The impact of a large slab of metal with flesh and bone and sinew._

SCREECH. _Another sound he'd remember forever. The seconds-too-late squeal of tires on asphalt, the brake that made up for in noise what it lacked in timing._

fuckingmotherofchristdeargodi'mgonnabesick

x.x.x

Valentine's Day.

A knock. Another knock. And another.

"Lily, dear, will you get that?" her mother called from the kitchen.

Lily groaned and rolled off the couch, making her way toward the front door.

Which she swung open only to come face to face with James Bloody Potter. And he was holding what looked suspiciously like a _card_.

"I'm not in the mood for your idiocy right now, Potter," she snapped before he even had a chance to open his mouth. "Go away and take your bloody Valentine."

"Not a Valentine," Potter murmured, running a hand through his messy hair.

"It's Valentine's Day," she said plainly. "What else?"

"You're going with Snape."

She scoffed. "Never stopped you before."

He grinned quickly. "No—really, it isn't. It's—I heard your sister was in the hospital."

Lily frowned.

"I—um—just thought maybe you wouldn't mind passing this along to her," he said, handing Lily the card. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "It's a 'Get well soon.'"

She inspected the envelope and, sure enough, there on the front was the name "Petunia Evans" scribbled in Potter's chicken scratch.

Lily bit her lip and her stomach twisted in a surprised and ashamed sort of way.

"Maybe you aren't a complete idiot after all, Potter," she said with a little smile. "I mean—really—thank you."

James nodded and left.

x.x.x

Sometimes, when he was too inebriated to be sensible but lucid enough for solitary musing, John Lupin remembered the good times.

x.x.x

_He walked across the lush, green grass of early June and settled down next to his lightly sweating wife under the cool shade of the gently swaying willow._

_John kissed her round, swelling stomach. "Mwah!" he exclaimed loudly. "That's for you, little Remus John Lupin. That's for you!"_

_Catie giggled and rubbed her belly through the soft cotton of her loose summer dress._

"_And this," he continued, kissing her soundly on the lips, "is for you, Catherine Anne Lupin, light of my life."_

_His wife smiled and sighed softly. "Only one month, John," she said. "Can you believe it? One month until the baby's due. I'm so excited."_

"_Me too," he said, running his strong fingers through Catie's soft blonde hair. "And look at this house—this yard! Beautiful, isn't it? The perfect place to raise a child."_

"_I know," she said. "We're so lucky Aunt Ruth left it to us."_

_He nuzzled his head into her shoulder. "I suppose being a deacon isn't exactly the most well-paying vocation I could have chosen, is it?"_

"_No," she said simply, "but it's certainly one of the most respectable. You work for the Church—nothing could be more worthwhile."_

_He kissed the tender skin of her neck. "I love you so much, Catie. I love you so much. I can't wait to meet our child."_

"_I'm heading to the grocery," he whispered into her ear after a few more moments of peace. "Have you made a list?"_

_She nodded. "Left it on the kitchen table."_

_He kissed her cheek lightly before standing up and brushing himself off. "Be back soon, honey."_

_She smiled._

_He went into the kitchen. Pocketed Catie's list and grabbed the car keys._

_He hopped into the old red Volkswagen, turned the key in the ignition, and backed out of the driveway_.

_John turned on the radio and hummed under his breath as he made the smooth, familiar drive to the grocery._

_He reached into his right pocket for the grocery list about four blocks from his destination, and his hand came out empty._

_He rummaged through his pocket again, and his hand came out empty again._

"_Where's the darned list?" he murmured._

_Two blocks from his destination._

_John ducked his head and pulled his pocket inside out. Out fell a pack of gum, no list yet, a bit of spare change, no list yet—_

THUMP. _That was a sound John would remember for the rest of his life. The impact of a large slab of metal with flesh and bone and sinew._

SCREECH. _Another sound he'd remember forever. The seconds-too-late squeal of tires on asphalt, the brake that made up for in noise what it lacked in timing._

fuckingmotherofchristdeargodi'mgonnabesick

_John put the car in park and stepped out._

_It had been holding a grocery bag, this—this thing that only resembled a man in the most grotesque manner possible. Gooey yellow egg yolk and smooth white milk trailed along the road, swirling and mixing with blood and piss, creating a black and stinking solution. _

"_Help! Somebody help!" John screamed. "By God, someone call an ambulance a—the police! There's—" He choked. "—there's been an accident."_

_John kneeled onto the warm and wet asphalt._

_He heaved. Heaved until he had heaved his guts into the solution of everything putrid and wrong in the world._

x.x.x

Catie groaned into the pillow as her son clambered onto the bed and pulled her into a gentle embrace, his breathing ragged and loud.

Remus.

She'd always wanted to be a mum, when she was little.

At five years old, Catie would sit on the kitchen counter, licking the spoon clean of batter as her mother put a batch brownies in the oven, and picture herself, thirty years later, with a cozy house and a wonderful husband and lots of children running every which way. The children would love her and she would love them and she would bake them cookies and teach them to read and to ride a bicycle.

But that dream died a long time ago, and now all she had was Remus. And she wished that she could be a better mother to him, really, but her frail body was just so heavy.

So heavy. It hurt to move. Just lifting her eyelids—_painpainpainhurthurt._

She felt clumsy boy hands running through her hair and she nuzzled her face into her son's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she murmured. "So sorry."

"Hmm?"

"Should've had more children," she murmured. "Dozens. Should've been a better mum."

"How come?" he whispered. "How come you didn't?"

And she remembered.

She remembered one-year-old adorable Remus and thirty-one-year-old handsome Raymond and those nights she'd missed John so much she ached and those nights she ached in other ways and a swelling stomach and baseball bats and coat hangers and bruises, blooming black and purple, and blood, thick and dirty reddish brown and flowing like she'd never seen before, and the fact if anything she used to believe were true then all she had now to look forward to was fire and brimstone.

"Couldn't."

Clumsy boy hands continued to stroke her hair, and she almost felt like a real mother.

x.x.x

"_Mark T. Pettigrew."_

_That was how the bobby identified It. The bloody mess that used to be Someone._

_Mark T. Pettigrew._

"_Five foot ten, 160 pounds, thirty two years old, according to his license. Got some family photos—wife, it looks to be, some kids—"_

"_Four children," John choked. "One's a—a newborn."_

"_You knew him?"_

"_I—saw him a few times—at mass." John took a ragged breath. "Couldn't—couldn't even recognize him now—I'd no idea—"_

"_And you admit to—"_

"_Yes," John interjected, nodding quickly without waiting to hear his crime spoken aloud. "Yes."_

"_Name?"_

"_Lupin. I_—_John M. Lupin."_

_Handcuffs._

John M. Lupin, you are under arrest—

x.x.x

"Hey, Moony," Peter said, "are you—I mean—is something the matter?"

"Hmm?"

"Just—you've been—odd, lately. And Sirius. I'm pretty sure James has noticed, too."

Remus frowned. "No—err—I'm f-fine, Peter. Really. Thanks, though."

x.x.x

"_It was an accident."_

Seven years since Mary had uttered those words. Seven years and he still heard them, sharp and clear as a shard of broken glass.

x.x.x

"It's just—you don't really talk anymore, you know."

"Hmm?"

"You and Sirius," Peter said. "You're usually talking and stuff all the time and for nearly two months now it's as if—are you angry with each other or something?"

"No!" Remus cried. "I mean—I—of course not. I c-couldn't ever be angry with Sirius. Nothing's the matter."

Peter shrugged. "Fine. Just—y'know—checking."

x.x.x

"_Well," he said, "maybe—maybe sometimes the endings aren't—s-so great. Or—beginnings, either. Maybe—it's b-better sometimes when everyone keeps quiet. Nicer just—not to know."_

x.x.x

"So," Remus said, "d-did you ever—did you ever find a newspaper? June 1959?"

Peter shook his head. "Nah, but—I reckon you were right. You know."

Remus nodded.

x.x.x

"Hey, Black, wait up!" Sirius heard.

He turned to see Severus Snape heading down the hallway straight for him.

"What do _you _want, Snivellus?"

Snape grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into the nearest empty classroom.

"Oh, looking for a quick snog?" Sirius said. "Because I hate to break it to you, Snivels, but you're _really_ not my type."

The other boy sneered. "Get your head out of your arse for half a minute, why don't you, Black? And then you can tell me this—what have done to Remus?"

"What the hell?" Sirius cried. "I haven't done any—"

"You've obviously done _something _to him, you git, and you need to suck it up and apologize to him _now._"

"Where'd you come up with this sh—"

"I don't bloody _come up_ with anything, Black. I _see _it. Even a dolt like _Potter_ could see that something is—_wrong—_with you and him and—and he's completely withdrawn now, thanks to you, just mopes about like—"

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, and even if I did, maybe it isn't any of your Goddamned _business,_ huh? Ever thought of that, Snape? Do you always have to poke your overlarge nose into matters that don't concern—"

"It concerns Remus, and so it damned well concerns me. As much as I hate you, Black, and as much as I think that Remus would be far better off without the likes of you and your—chums—he's still my friend and I refuse to let him wander about completely miserable for God-knows-how long because _you're _too much of a prat to get over yourself and—"

Snape stopped abruptly and took a breath.

"You don't know fucking _anything!_" Sirius exclaimed. "Remus means more to me than—than—do you hear me, Snape? You don't know _anything._"

But Snape was already out the door.

x.x.x

The willow swayed in the crisp breeze of early March, and Remus, huddled underneath, wrapped his arms around his knees for warmth as he read.

He heard rustling in the grass. Felt a warm body settle on the ground beside him.

"Please, Sirius," he murmured, not looking up from his book, "just let me read—"

"It's not Black," said a distinctly female voice.

Remus looked up and smiled. "Lily. I'm sorry, I thought—"

"Don't," she said. "What's wrong with you?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't play dumb, Remus. You and Black. I—at first I thought it was about what happened New Year's Eve, but—that's not just it, is it?"

Remus bit his lip. "I—no. Well—yes. Yes and no. It's nothing, r-really."

"That's the stupidest answer I've ever heard."

He shrugged.

"You and Black don't talk anymore."

"We talk."

"Tell me the last time you talked."

"I—" Remus frowned. "He b-borrowed a pen from me the other day."

Lily rolled her eyes. "The other day—meaning, what, two months ago?"

Remus shrugged. "Hey, I've been m-meaning to ask—how's your sister?"

"Not out of the hospital yet, but doing a little better," she said. "And don't you dare try to change the subject."

His lips quirked into a sheepish little smile.

"That's what I thought." Lily paused. "You were going to tell me to go away, weren't you?"

"I—what?"

"When you thought I was Black. You about to tell me to go away."

He said nothing.

x.x.x

_He found the list in his left pocket._

_Later._

x.x.x

"Haven't had Remus over for dinner in a while, have you?" his mother asked as Sirius slurped his spaghetti.

Sirius shrugged.

"I've got something for him," she said. "I think—well, he might not even want it—but he's old enough now, and I've been saving it. Just in case."

He scrunched his nose, confused. "What would you have—"

"Remember when you boys believed in the tooth fairy?" she interrupted.

Regulus and Sirius both groaned dramatically, but Sirius had to stifle a little grin.

He remembered.

"Such a nice boy, that Remus," his mother said. "I've always had a soft spot for him, you know."

Sirius rolled his eyes, but again had to stifle a little grin.

He knew.

x.x.x

"Faggot!" his father cried.

Remus jumped.

"Boy, get in here!"

He scurried into the living room. His father sat on the armchair, holding a Bible and a bottle of something unidentifiable except by its stench.

Remus swallowed. "I—y-yes, sir?"

"I'm going to teach you something you won't ever learn from one of those bloody textbooks."

His breathing quickened.

John sneered. "You believe in the devil, don't you, boy?"

_You are the devil_. "I—yes—yes, of course. You t-taught me to. Of course."

"Good," he said. "You wanna know something about him?"

Remus made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat.

"He wasn't _supposed_ to be there."

Remus blinked and said nothing.

"The devil was created by an accident. And you'd do well to remember that, faggot."

x.x.x

**a/n: **Reviews : Me :: Chocolate : Remus


	12. Severus Snape the Fuckin' Crack Up

**a/n: **Sorry this update's later than expected, guys. First I had to deal with exams, and then on the _very _last day of school my grandparents/aunt/uncle flew in from across the country. So, yeah . . . extended family time.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Chapter 12: Severus Snape the Fuckin' Crack Up

x.x.x

"You've got to get over this, mate."

"Hmm?" Sirius said. "What're you talking about?"

"_This_—this thing!" James exclaimed. "This thing with you and Remus all—not talking to each other and stuff. It's screwing us up."

"What do you mean, screwing us up?"

"_Us,_" James repeated. "The _Marauders_. We're all screwed up 'cause of this—this—whatever it is. He won't even sit with us at lunch anymore! He sits with Lily and _Snivellus_ now."

Sirius frowned. "I—he'd sit with you and Pete, if you wanted," he murmured. "Isn't an _us _thing. Just me."

James rolled his eyes. "Well—_you're _a part of _us._ And so is Moony. And the two of you are screwing us up."

x.x.x

There were plenty of things that Walburga Black was not proud of. Not proud of at all.

But—there were a few things she was.

She was proud of what she kept in the top drawers of her dresser.

She was proud of the twin college funds collecting interest in the bank.

She was proud of the lifestyle she had managed to give her sons—that of a doctor's family, except, of course, without a doctor in the family.

And, of course, she was proud of her sons. Sirius and Regulus. Regulus and Sirius. Because everything she was ashamed of—her sons were worth it.

x.x.x

She fumbled through the medicine cabinet.

The shower.

The cupboard under the bathroom sink.

Catie leaned against the bathroom door and buried her face in her hands, too tired to go back to bed.

Too tired to care that he had taken all the razor blades.

Again.

x.x.x

"Look, mate," James began, "if you'd just apologize—"

"Why should I fucking apologize?" he snapped. "How is it everybody thinks _I've_ done something to _him? _How come it's automatically _my _fault? Did you maybe consider for half a second the possibility that _he _should be the one apologizing?"

"Well—should he?"

Sirius chewed at the inside of his cheek. "No," he murmured.

"Well." James shrugged. "There you go."

x.x.x

"Hey, Snape," he heard someone whisper. He felt an elbow nudge his shoulder. "Snape, get your big bloody nose out of that book, eh?"

He looked up to see three boys looming over the little corner library table. The one standing in the middle one—Whatshisname Avery—was in the eleventh or twelfth grade, Severus wasn't sure which, and Severus recognized the two boys who flanked him—Evan Rosier and Notringingabelljustnow Mulciber—from maths, despite the fact that each was at least a grade or two above him.

Potter and Black thought of themselves as troublemakers, sure, but anyone could see that they were the sweethearts of the school compared to these boys.

Slicked hair, ripped jeans, leather jackets—the whole fucking bad-boy shebang.

And they were standing practically on top of him.

"What do you lot want?" Severus sneered. "My _lunch money? _ Oh, I'm so terrified."

Avery snorted. "Scrappy, aren't ya? If only. What I want," he whispered conspiratorially, "is that Evans bird."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't think I haven't seen you two all _over_ each other. It's sickening. But I gotta hand it to ya, Snape, you got taste."

Severus bared his teeth.

"Yeah," Avery continued, "the bird's a real _dish, _huh? Real fit piece of arse, that one."

"Fucking shut up _now_," Severus warned, standing up and not quite reaching the older boy's shoulder, "before I bloody make you."

"Bet you anything she's a virgin, huh? God, I'd fucking love to get my cock in that tight little—"

And just like that, Whatshisname Avery had a _very _bloody nose.

Avery jumped back, clutching his face and grinning like mad. Rosier gave Severus a playful swat on the arm.

"I—I just—punched you," he stated lamely. "Your nose is bleeding."

"Yeah," Avery said through a fistful of blood. "Dice sho', bade."

Severus quirked a brow.

"Nice shot, mate," Mulciber translated, a smirk twisting his rather sinister countenance.

"I—rather fail to see the humor in the situation," he said. "Forgive me if I ask why you haven't beaten me into a pathetic pile of blood and bones by now."

"A real wit, eh, Ave?" Rosier laughed. "Fuckin' brill, too, from the sound of him. You were dead on to pick this one."

Avery nodded and turned to Severus. "You're id," he said.

"Id?" Severus said.

"In," Mulciber translated again. "You're in."

"In—what? For a crap load of detentions if Pince happens to walk over here?"

"Guy's a fuckin'_ crack up_," Rosier said. "You're _in _with _us,_" he told Severus.

"_In _with _you_?"

"That's what I said, innit? Need another bloke, we do. One with smarts—y'know. A real brain."

Severus frowned. "And so you chose me—why? You simply looked at me and said, 'Hey, I bet that guy's a _real brain_. He's in.' What about that earlier shit, huh? What the hell was that—some sort of assessment? Initiation?"

"Course," Avery said, about half of his shirt sleeve now stuffed up his nose. "We could't hab do wod afraid da pud up a figh'."

"Couldn't have no one afraid to put up a fight," Mulciber said immediately.

Severus took a breath and sat down. "So—you didn't mean any of that, then? About Lily?"

"Course he didn't, mate," Rosier interjected. "Like you said, yeah? A—_assessment._ Can't have nobody what won't even put up a good fight for his own bird, eh? Can't have no cowards, what with what we get up to."

"What with what you get up to," Severus repeated, feeling slightly dazed.

"Exactly. You _are_ in, yeah?" Rosier said, smiling almost manically.

"Don't _ever_ talk about Lily like that again," he said, turning to look at Avery. "I'm fucking serious. You say anything like that again and I'll snap your neck. I swear to Christ—I _will_."

Avery laughed, bright crimson blood bubbling into his sleeve. "Wouldn' hab id ady oda' way."

Mulciber rolled his eyes. "Wouldn't have it any other way," he said briskly.

"Boy scouts' fuckin' honor," said Rosier. "So. You're in."

It wasn't a question.

He was in.

x.x.x

"Freaks," Sirius said as James sat down between him and Peter at the lunch table.

James frowned. "I—what?"

"_Freaks,_" he repeated. "You think I'm a freak?"

"The freakiest of the freaks," James replied with a snort. "I've only been your best mate for longer than I've had the capacity to form a coherent sentence because I pity you and your freakishness."

Sirius stuck out his tongue. "I'm serious, you arsehole."

"Yes, and I'm James, and this is Peter."

He rolled his eyes. "Thought you hated that joke."

"Only when you make it," James said with a grin.

"No really, you prat. What about—faggots?"

Peter gasped almost inaudibly, but Sirius noticed.

James' brows furrowed. "Faggots?"

"_Faggots. _You know—ho-mo-_sexuals_."

"Yeah, mate, I know what they _are._ What I want to know is where on the bleeding earth you come _up _with this stuff. Queers are—well, they're queer. So what?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and turned to Peter. "What about you Wormtail, eh? What do you think about faggots?"

Peter bit his lip and poked at his shepherd's pie. "I—umm—I don't think that's a very nice word."

Sirius snorted. "You sound like—" He stopped abruptly. "You sound like—ah—my mum. So you don't think they're freaks or anything?"

"I—" Peter frowned. "Well—I'm Catholic. So—I mean—I mean I think it's—not—right."

"Sick?" Sirius asked.

"I—don't know. Not—err—natural, anyway."

"What if James here was one?" he asked. "If he was—y'know—bent. Would it—disgust you? Would you stop being his friend?"

James snorted and rolled his eyes. "Look, mate, if you're going to question my sexuality just go ahead and—"

"I—of course not!" Peter exclaimed. "He's a Marauder. The four of us are."

Sirius tried to ignore the fact that there were only three people at the table.

"So?" he asked.

"So of course I wouldn't stop being his friend. I just—think it isn't right, that's all. God knows you and James do enough things I don't think are right, anyway. What's one more added to the list, eh?"

Peter gave him this funny sort of smile—forgiving and begging forgiveness—and Sirius frowned.

"It's just a 'what if' question, Peter," he said. "I don't think anybody's planning on adding one more to the list anytime soon."

James adjusted his spectacles. "You blokes done yet? 'Cause I don't know about you, but all this talk of ho-mo-_sexuals _is putting me off my food."

x.x.x

"Lily?"

"Yeah?"

Remus bit his lip and rapped his fingers nervously against the library tabletop. "I've got a—a question for you."

Lily pursed her lips.

"Do you—" Remus began. "I mean, what d-do you think about—err—boys?"

"Boys?" she said, face scrunched in confusion. "I think they're rather stupid, by and large. Is that all? You want to know what I think about boys?"

"No. I—I mean—ah—yes. Boys. With—other—b-boys."

"Boys with other boys?"

He gnawed at his bottom lip anxiously. "Well—you know—like—d-doing stuff."

"Stuff?"

"_Stuff._"

Lily's green eyes widened in comprehension. "Oh!" she cried. "Oh—you mean—_stuff._ Why do you—?" She frowned, closed her eyes for a split second, and when she opened them they were even wider than before. "Is this about—you and—"

"No!" he interrupted. "I mean—the question is—purely h-hypothetical. It—umm—s-says that i-it's—wrong. In—in the Bible."

"Didn't know you were religious," she said.

"I'm—I'm not."

"Not at all?"

He shook his head.

She shrugged. "So then what does it matter?"

x.x.x

Petunia zipped up a pretty dress that wasn't one size too big anymore.

She plaited her hair in the mirror of the little hospital bathroom.

Sort of lopsided, but it would do. It would do.

x.x.x

Petunia wore the pretty dress that wasn't one size too big anymore and the sort-of-lopsided plait out of the hospital and into the brisk air of late March.

She wore them into and out of her parents' car and across the lawn and through the front door—all the way home.

Finally.

Home.

x.x.x

On her sister's first night home, Lily slipped into Petunia's room and crawled into bed with her.

"Missed you," Lily whispered.

"Missed you too," her sister replied.

"How come?" she asked. "I mean—just—how come it—happened?"

"You wouldn't understand, Lily," Petunia murmured. "You're pretty and smart and—you wouldn't understand. Don't worry about it."

"That's not true," Lily said. "I'd understand and I'd—you really were pretty today," she whispered. "When you got home. With your hair all braided and your new dress on. I helped mum pick that one out, you know."

"Thanks," Petunia said, though Lily wasn't sure what exactly she was being thanked for.

"So how—how come?"

"I don't _know,_" her sister said. "I don't know, Lily. Let it go. It's over."

"Is it?"

"Of course. Now go to sleep."

"G'night Pet," she whispered.

"Goodnight Lily."

x.x.x

On his fourteenth birthday, Remus got chocolate from Lily, more chocolate from James, and a book from Severus.

And that was enough. But that was all.

Until that night, when he found a ragged stuffed animal on his doorstep. A furry black dog with glossy button eyes and a felt pink tongue hanging out of its mouth.

There was a note propped up on the ground next to it.

_Moony,_

_I'm really really sorry for whatever dumb stupid thing I did. Cause I'm really dumb and stupid sometimes. Okay, lots of times._

_But I think you should forgive me anyways because it's been a really long time and then we can go back to being the Marauders like before. Best mates and all. And when school starts up again you can sit with us at lunch, okay? Because we all miss you and, you know. All that._

_Happy birthday._

_Padfoot_

Remus choked.

And then he took a deep breath and smiled, just a little. He picked up the dog and pocketed the note and almost wished that James Potter's chicken scratch weren't so impossible to disguise.

x.x.x

Crack number twenty-eight.

"School's been out for a while now," James said, tapping his fingers on the desk.

"I know," responded Sirius, who was lying on his back on James Potter's bed and counting the cracks in James Potter's ceiling.

"His birthday was three days ago."

"I know."

"Did you get him anything?"

Crack number twenty-eight. "What do you think?"

"I think you did."

Crack number twenty-eight. "My father's a faggot."

"You're—what? I must've heard—what did you just say?"

Crack number twenty-eight.

x.x.x

There were Rules.

James knew there were Rules. The Unspoken Rules of the Marauders.

Well—that wasn't the official name, of course, due to the fact that deciding on an official name would require speaking of the Rules, which would render them no longer Unspoken.

But that was how James thought of them, anyway. The Rules.

Share any and all chocolate with Remus, for one thing.

Share anything you possibly can with Peter, for another—without making him feel like a charity case, of course.

Don't mention Peter's father. Don't mention Sirius' father. Don't mention Remus' father. For the purpose of avoiding general awkwardness, mention James' father and, really, fathers as a whole, as little as possible.

Don't mention Sirius' mother's job without specifically using the word _secretary_. Don't mention strange and expensive cars parked in Sirius' drive or disheveled businessmen leaving his house.

Don't mention what you see when Remus' sleeve slides down his forearm.

There were others, but—anyway, there was a _reason_ why the Rules were Unspoken.

James typically considered himself above rules of any and all varieties. School rules, his mother's rules, the _law_. But even James Potter did not consider himself above the Unspoken Rules of the Marauders.

Which was why he really had no clue how to respond when Sirius Black up and broke a Rule—a _Rule_, for Christ's sake.

x.x.x

"I _said_, he's a faggot."

"You—your father?"

Crack number twenty-nine. "That's what I said, Potter."

His friend's hazel eyes widened behind his glasses in understanding. "So that's why you were—that one time—well, Christ, you must've known this for at least—wait. How _do _you know this? You haven't seen him since—since we were kids."

Crack number twenty-nine. "Overheard them on the phone. She called him a freak. Said she knew he'd run off with—with _him_. That freak of his, she said. _Him._"

"When?" James asked.

Crack number twenty-nine. "New Year's."

"Fuck."

Crack number— "_Shit_."

Silence.

"I lost count."

Silence.

"You've an awful lot of cracks on your ceiling, Jimmy, old boy."

Silence.

"I—d'you think_ I'm_ a freak, James?"

"No," James said.

"What if I _was,_ though? Would you hate me?"

"No," James said. "But I—I think you should talk to Remus. Really. The two of you are screwing us up."

x.x.x

"Hey—remember that question you asked me?" Lily said as she settled herself cross-legged on the grass under the willow. "Er—sort of a while ago?"

Remus frowned, then nodded.

"Well—I never really answered it, I realized," she continued. "I mean, I never actually told you what I thought. About—about _boys_." Her lips quirked into a slight grin.

"It's—it's okay," Remus said. "It was j-just a question, is all. Nothing t-too important."

"But I just wanted to," she said. "You know—answer."

He looked at her expectantly.

"I just wanted to say that I think—I think boys are okay. Boys with other boys are okay."

He ran a hand through his hair nervously.

"And also—umm—boys don't have to decide anything big like whether or not they like other boys when they're still young," Lily said quickly. "I mean—sometimes boys can like girls and boys. And sometimes boys just go through funny phases and maybe sometimes it's tough to figure out but—it's not something that—umm—boys should—y'know—have to worry about. Because I think those sort of things just work themselves out, eventually."

Remus said nothing.

"Well," she finished, standing up and brushing off her pants. "That's what I think."

And Remus smiled, almost.

And Lily smiled.

x.x.x

Knock, knock.

Knock.

x.x.x

Remus glanced over his shoulder, checking that his father was still asleep on the couch.

"Er—hello."

"Hey."

"You c-came to—to the door."

"Yeah," Sirius said. "Sorry."

"You—" he frowned, stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

"It was your birthday," Sirius blurted. "Two weeks ago. July eleventh. You turned fourteen. You turned fourteen and I didn't even get you anything. I've got you something every birthday since we were—I don't know—kids."

"You did," Remus whispered.

"Hmm?"

"You did," he repeated. "Get me s-something."

Sirius scrunched his nose and shook his head.

"I—umm—I just wanted to say—" Sirius stopped. "I mean—I miss you. I really miss you."

Remus ran a hand through his hair. "Miss you t-too," he murmured. "A lot."

And for a fleeting moment he saw nothing but gray eyes, young and wild and scared, and then there were arms around him, pulling him into a rough, warm embrace, and Sirius' cheek was buried in his shoulder and Sirius' hands were gripping like talons into his back and his own nose was somewhere in Sirius' neck and soft black hair that smelled of soap and sweat and—_God_—this was where he was meant to be.

x.x.x

Sirius pulled away, but held onto Remus' shoulders.

Remus' eyes—they were huge and full of sunlight and Sirius remembered—

And suddenly—lips and teeth and limbs and Remus and—_God_—this was where he was meant to be.

Sirius pulled back abruptly, his breathing ragged and sporadic and loud, and Remus bit those red raw lips of his.

"Is this—" Sirius started. "I mean—are we—okay?"

Remus frowned. And then nodded. "We're—o-okay. Okay."

Sirius made a great show of grinning like mad, because otherwise he thought he just might cry.

"I didn't get you anything for you birthday," he finally said.

Remus laughed. "Doesn't matter," he said. "There's—umm—always n-next year."

Sirius laughed.

x.x.x

Severus Snape was fourteen years old the first time he smoked a cigarette.

"Go on mate," Rosier urged. "Have the fag. Gets out all the stress, y'know? All them nerves."

"Who said I've got nerves?" Severus countered, but when Avery handed him a match he struck it on the sidewalk and lit the cigarette he'd also gotten from Avery.

"Well," Rosier said, "don't just be sittin' there, eh? Take a puff."

Severus brought the cigarette to his lips and breathed. He spluttered and coughed, dropping the still-lit cigarette onto the ground.

"_Christ!_" he exclaimed, still coughing. "That's bloody horrid."

Mulciber smirked.

"You get used to it," Rosier said with a laugh. "Helps what with the nerves an' all."

"Don't have any damned _nerves,_" Severus grumbled.

"Course you got _nerves,_" Rosier said. "We all got nerves. Think you're so bloody clever, do you, Snape? Think you're such a hand at keepin' quiet? You're one of _us, _Snape, and we can always tell one of us. Elsewise how come we'd've picked you, eh?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," he murmured.

"You don't got _shit_ for family is what I'm fuckin' _talkin' _about. Not bleedin' difficult to spot. So don't act like you're so much better'n the rest of us and have a damned smoke. Helps with the nerves."

Rosier turned to Avery, who fished the carton back out of his pocket and passed it to Severus.

He took another cigarette and twirled it between his fingers pensively. "Fine," he said eventually, walking across the decrepit, abandoned playground and choosing a relatively sturdy looking swing. "Fine, I'll have the damned cigarette. Toss me another match, Avery, would you?"

x.x.x

"Well—what do you think?" his dad asked, dangling a pair of chokers in front of his face. "The silver or the gold?"

He groaned. The burden of being on only child—his parents dragged him along on the most _tedious _errands.

"I don't _know,_" James said. "She's _your _wife. It's _your _anniversary."

His dad smiled apologetically. "Yeah, I know—but just be a sport, eh? Silver or gold?"

"Gold," James said, simply to shut his father up.

His dad frowned. "Yes, I do think it's the prettier of the two myself, but your mum's always had a penchant for silver—"

"Fine!" James exclaimed. "Get the silver. _Please _let's just go home now."

"All right, kiddo, all right." his dad said. "Know what I'll do? I'll buy _both, _save the receipt and decide later, and then return the other one. How does that sound? Clever, no?"

He rolled his eyes. "Smashingly clever, Dad," he said. "So now let's head out."

x.x.x

First day of the ninth grade.

"Hello," Remus said, dropping his lunch tray on the table and settling himself between Sirius and Peter. "How were—umm—your s-summers, then?"

James coughed and ducked, hastily pulling off his spectacles and rubbing them on the front of his shirt. "Er—speck on the glass," he murmured. "Summer was great."

Sirius put a friendly arm around his shoulder and ruffled Remus' hair. "I'd reckon it wasn't a bad summer, eh, Rem?" he said with a laugh.

Peter looked from Remus to Sirius to James and offered a tiny smile. "Very good," Peter said. "Summer was very good, thank you."

x.x.x

"Can you really just tell?"

"Eh?" Rosier said.

"Can you really just_ tell?_" Severus asked again. "About people's families—like you said that one time."

"Oh—yeah, sure, mate," he said with a nod. "Not hard. You could too, if'n you wanted."

"How?"

"You just—look for people like you. You done it before, I reckon."

Severus blinked. "Are you saying—"

"Lupin."

"You shouldn't know that," Severus said. "You—how do you know that?"

"I done seen the bloke, huh? Like I said—not difficult to spot." Rosier shrugged. "Anyhow, you sure knew."

"That's a completely different matter. I—he's my—"

"Friend?" Rosier sneered. "You're a fuckin' crack up, Snape. Knew there was a reason what we picked you. A real wit."

"Pardon?" Severus said with a crinkle of his upper lip.

"Guys like us an' Lupin—we don't got friends," Rosier said. "We got mates and such—guys what help us get through all right—but we _never_ got friends. Nobody's _friend_ material what ever speaks with the likes of us. And you can be sure none of our screwed up lot'll ever make for any sort of friend."

"So what about Remus, then?" he demanded. "He's certainly got plenty of friends. _I'm _his friend. But even—even outside _our lot_, he's got friends."

"You'll learn. You and him both—you'll learn."

x.x.x

"So," James said, "everything's back to normal, eh? Best mates and all?"

"Back to normal," Sirius confirmed. "Best mates and all."

x.x.x

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Black," Remus said as he approached the doorway. "Dinner was lovely."

"Oh dear!" she cried. "I nearly forgot—I have something I've been saving for you."

"Oh—that's very kind of you, ma'am," he said. "But I really d-don't need anything."

"Nonsense," Sirius' mother said with a smile. "Just sit tight while I run upstairs and get it."

"Do you know what she's talking about?" he whispered to Sirius as Mrs. Black hurried up the stairs.

Sirius leaned against the doorframe and shook his head. "Nah—thought maybe you did. She's a little nuts, that one."

Remus grinned. "She isn't nuts," he admonished. "Your mum's lovely."

"Dinner was _lovely_," Sirius teased in a falsetto. "Your mum's _lovely. _Isn't everything just _lovely?_"

Remus opened his mouth, rejoinder on the tip his tongue, when he heard Mrs. Black scurry down the stairs.

"Got it!" she called. She walked over to the doorway and took Remus' hand. He felt her press something small and cool into his palm.

"What's—" he began, and then he opened his hand and saw. "Oh," he said. He swallowed. "Oh—this—wow. All—all this t-time."

"Of course," she said. "It was rather stupid of me to mark on it, I do apologize for that, but it was the only way I could think to differentiate it from Sirius'. I've been keeping them all in the same box, you see. Anyway, I thought by now you'd be old enough to hold onto it yourself. Unless, of course, you don't want—"

"No, no," he cut in. "I—I'll hang onto it. Thank you—thank you v-very much for saving this for me."

Mrs. Black nodded and hurried back to the kitchen. Remus slipped his hand into his pocket and stepped outside.

x.x.x

"Well," Sirius asked as his friend departed, "what is it?"

But Remus just shrugged. "Remember when we believed in the tooth fairy?" he said.

And Sirius had to stifle a grin.

He remembered.

x.x.x

Remus sat on his bed, toy dog in his lap, and fingered the baby tooth—his baby tooth.

It was beige and unassuming, tainted only by a black dot of permanent marker. But other than that—perfect. Other than that.

Remus took a razor blade from his pocket and made a tiny incision in the dog's seam—right above its chest. He studied the tooth for half a second longer, then stuffed it into the shaggy animal.

"Haven't got a needle and thread right now, I'm afraid," he whispered to the dog, its black button eyes gleaming at him. "But I'll have you fixed up soon," he said. "No worries. I'll have you fixed up s-soon."

x.x.x

**a/n: **Merry Christmas, etc.! Presents, anyone?


	13. Those Things Turn Your Heart Black

**a/n: **INFINITE APOLOGIES for the longer-than-usual wait. School pwns my life, as much as I wish it didn't.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Thirteen: Those Things Turn Your Heart Black

x.x.x

"Hey," Sirius said as he leaned against the trunk of the willow, the late November wind nipping at his face. "A little chilly to be reading out here under your tree, eh?"

Remus put the book down but shook his head.

"You're telling me it isn't cold?"

Remus laughed. "The tree. Isn't m-mine."

Sirius shrugged. "Whose then?"

"Yours, of course."

His tree.

Sirius' tree.

"Well," Sirius said with a little grin, "I suppose I can deal with that. But you've got to admit it's chilly out, anyways."

x.x.x

"James!" his mother exclaimed from the kitchen. He heard a sneeze. A cough. "James Potter, if you're not downstairs and dressed in two minutes flat you'll miss your bus! And I _refuse _to drive you."

"Coming!" James cried, fumbling through his dresser drawers for a pair of matching socks. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he mumbled. "Where are the bloody—Mum!" he called. "I haven't got any socks!"

"Borrow a pair of your father's!" he heard her call back. "Second drawer from the bottom—on the left. And hurry!"

James darted across the hall to his parents' room.

Dresser—dresser—okay—left—first from the bottom—second from the bottom—

Socks. A drawer full of socks, each pair rolled into a neat ball.

"Found them!" he cried.

James snatched a black pair from the drawer, unrolling them with haste.

Something glimmered golden in front of James' eyes, falling from the now unrolled socks to the carpet with a soft _pat_.

He knelt down and scanned the floor until the golden gleam caught his eye once more. James picked up the object that had been rolled in his father's socks—a necklace. A chain-link gold choker that James just _knew _he'd seen somewhere—

"James Potter, get your lazy buttocks down here _now!_"

"Coming!" he cried. "I'm coming!"

He pocketed the necklace and pulled on his father's socks as he stumbled down the stairs.

x.x.x

James figured it out on the bus that morning, fingering the necklace with his hand shoved in his pocket.

"_Yeah, I know—but just be a sport, eh? Silver or gold?"_

He wasn't any less confused.

x.x.x

"Hey," Severus said with a little grin as she took her seat next to him in homeroom.

"Hello," the redhead responded happily. Her eyes scanned the room, apparently checking to make sure no one was looking, and she leaned over to give Severus a quick peck on the edge of his mouth.

Lily frowned. "You taste like cigarettes," she whispered.

Something in his stomach twisted painfully as Severus watched Lily's dainty hand wipe the taste of him off her lips. "I—might have had one this morning," he murmured.

She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't smoke," she chastised. "I've heard those things turn your lungs black."

"Perfect," he replied with a little smirk. "To match my heart."

"That isn't funny," she spat. "You really shouldn't smoke," she whispered once more, green eyes big and pleading, before turning away.

Severus bit his lip. He took a stick of mint gum from his pocket and popped it in his mouth, chewing until his gums tingled and then swallowing.

"Hey—Lily?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

His lips formed a ring and he blew into her face.

She giggled. "Minty," she said.

He smiled. "Bet I don't taste like cigarettes anymore, eh?"

She rolled her eyes, but Severus discerned a grin struggling for control of her lips. "Good," she said, "because that particular taste really doesn't suit you."

x.x.x

When James got home from school, he slipped into his parents' bedroom.

Dresser—dresser—okay—left—first from the bottom—second from the bottom—

Socks.

James fumbled through the drawer until he found another black pair. He unrolled them, took the necklace from his pockets, re-rolled the socks with the necklace inside.

x.x.x

"Hello, Mrs. Black," James said politely and Sirius' mum opened the door.

"Hello, dear," she said. "You're looking for Sirius, I assume?"

James nodded. "He here, by any chance?"

She shook her head. "You may want to check the Lupins'. I'm pretty sure he said something about going to see Remus."

"Will do, Mrs. Black. Thanks."

x.x.x

The willow swayed above them, and Remus smiled as he felt Sirius' head fall to his shoulder—Sirius' lips fall to his neck—

He pulled away.

"What's the matter, Rem?" Sirius asked with a slight pout.

"I—just—" Remus ran a hand through his hair. "Do y-you think this is—that w-we're—faggots?"

Sirius gritted his teeth. "No," he said, and his voice was harsh. "Absolutely not."

"Well then—what?" he asked softly.

"What—what?"

"Are—are we?" Remus said. "If not—if n-not faggots?"

"We're best mates," Sirius said. "Best mates, of course."

Best mates. Remus could never argue that.

Especially not with Sirius' lips on his.

x.x.x

James heard the voices before he made out the figures standing under the willow tree.

"—what?"

"—we? If not—"

"—mates. Best mates, of—"

That was when, adjusting his glasses, James made out the figures.

He turned around and tried to suppress the beast clawing at the inside of his ribcage.

x.x.x

_don't be petty james for chrissake i'm not a girl don't be petty you've known really so why should it matter you've known and for chrissake i'm not a girl_

x.x.x

He walked home.

x.x.x

The night air was frigid, and as Severus settled himself on his regular swing he wished he'd worn something heavier than just a long-sleeved t-shirt.

"Wotcher!" Rosier exclaimed, rapping a flashlight on his wrist—wrist_watch_, which Severus had always assumed Rosier used for concealment rather than time-telling purposes. Of course, God only knew when it came to Rosier. "It's midnight. Happy fuckin' Christmas!"

Avery cuffed the Rosier on the arm, knocking the flashlight out of his hand, and Mulciber snorted lightly.

"Happy fucking Christmas, yourself," Severus grumbled. He shivered. "It's freezing. Somebody toss me a fag, will you?"

x.x.x

James nearly cried when, on Christmas morning, his mother received from his father a lovely silver bracelet to match her choker, a pair of pearl earrings, an expensive-looking dress, a cinnamon-scented candle, and an assortment of borderline-trashy literature.

Well. There was always Valentine's Day.

x.x.x

"Fifteen, eh, Pete?"

Peter absent-mindedly plucked a string on the violin in his lap. "Will be in a few months," he said. "In May."

Ms. Sinistra nodded. "Not too young to be thinking about University, you know."

"University?"

"University," his teacher repeated. "Do you know whether you plan on majoring in music?"

He nodded fervently. "Music is the only—well," he said. "That's my plan, yeah."

She bit her lip pensively. "Well—I don't know if you'd like the idea of going to University abroad, but you really should start thinking about it. If you considered, say, Julliard, then my recommendation might actually hold some sway. It's always helpful to have one of the alumni throwing in a good word for you."

He plucked an open G.

"What we've got to do," she said, "is get you involved in a couple of youth orchestras. Your school orchestra won't be enough. But, with a couple of youth orchestras, a letter of recommendation from me and another from one of your conductors—yes. Yes, that's just what you need."

x.x.x

The tenth of February and James could no longer take the suspense.

"Hey—umm—Dad?" James said, taking a seat on the couch next to his father.

His father looked up from the evening paper, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yeah?"

James fiddled with his own glasses. "Err—your anniversary was in September, wasn't it?"

His dad nodded.

"And—didn't you decide on the silver necklace, eventually?"

His dad nodded again.

"What did you—ah—do with the gold one?" he asked. "I mean—just wondering."

James' dad grinned, lips lined with mischief. "Got anyone particular in mind?" he asked. "A redhead, maybe?"

James glared. "No, not that it's any of your business."

"All right," his dad said with a chuckle. "I give. But if you _do _have someone in mind, for, say, Valentine's—it's coming up, you know—then we'll have to make another trip."

James frowned. "Do you mean—"

"Took it back," his father said.

"So you didn't—save it—or anything?" James asked. "I mean—it might have made a nice—err—Valentine's present. Like you said. For mum, I mean."

James' father shook his head. "Nah. Took it back when I decided on the silver. That's rather thoughtful of you, though," his dad said with a smile. "You'll make a good spouse one day, hmm?"

"Right. Of course. Just—you know—curious."

His dad laughed. "Sure thing, sport. And hey—if you change your mind about wanting to buy a Valentine for anyone—you know your old man's always up for a trip, yeah?"

"Yeah," James said. "Yeah. Sure thing, Dad."

x.x.x

Knock, knock.

Knock.

x.x.x

Saturday evening.

"Sirius!" his mum called. "Get the door, would you?"

"Course."

x.x.x

Sirius Black was fifteen years old when he opened his front door and the world, for a split second, stopped turning.

x.x.x

Sirius saw—himself.

Himself, thirty years from now and slightly worse for wear.

Black hair speckled with gray. Prominent, straight nose. Gray eyes—one of them masked with a swollen circle of black and aubergine.

Himself, on the doorstep.

"So," Sirius said in the light tone, casual and concealing, that he had learned so well from his mother. "So—how was Africa?"

"Sirius." His name slid off the man's tongue easily. "You have to be Sirius," he murmured again to himself. "I—I don't know what your mother's told you, but you need to know—"

"Shut up!" Sirius interrupted heatedly. "Just—shut up. I'm not an idiot." His voice was cool, now. Steely. "I said, how was Africa?"

The man—Orion—choked on a trembling breath. "Africa," he finally said. "Africa. Africa was—fine. I—I missed you."

Sirius snarled. "Not much, obviously."

"That's not true," he said. "I missed—miss—miss you—and—and your brother—_and_ your mum—so much. So much."

Gray met gray as Sirius glared at Orion. The freak.

"Sirius—I—I don't think you—understand the situation," he said. "If you'd just listen to me—"

"_Don't_ say it," Sirius warned. "I don't want to hear—just—_don't _say it."

The freak sighed and swallowed. "Africa is—very far away."

Sirius felt his chest compressing. His lungs deflating. Burning. "Not nine years away."

He ran a hand through his graying hair. "Maybe not. And—and I'm not going to make excuses. But courage—courage can be lifetimes away. You—do you understand?"

"Yes," Sirius spat, pushing past his father out the door. "Unfortunately."

He ran.

x.x.x

Orion stepped across the threshold into the house that used to be his. He shut the door behind him.

"Wal?" He took a shuddering breath. "Walburga, are you home? Regulus? Reg?"

x.x.x

It was chance that Remus looked out his window to see Sirius sprinting across the street determinedly.

Remus spied his friend's house—whose car was that in the drive? He frowned. Not—no, definitely not one of the usuals.

He hurried downstairs to meet Sirius.

x.x.x

He didn't stop until he had made it to Remus' house.

x.x.x

The doorstep.

That was where he met Sirius. Sirius, who had run down the street in the same short span of time that Remus had run down the stairs.

And when Remus opened the door, Sirius was there, on the doorstep, breathing heavily with his right hand raised and fisted in an about-to-knock gesture.

Remus said nothing, putting his index finger to his lips and stepping aside.

Sirius' gray eyes widened slightly, full of some question.

Yes, Remus nodded. Whatever the question, the answer was yes.

His friend stepped across the threshold, silently closing the door behind him, and Remus hoped he wouldn't regret that moment forever.

x.x.x

As they crept up the stairs and down the drab hallway, he mulled over the fact that he had never been in Remus' house before.

SIrius recognized the bedroom from years of perching on tree branches and looking in through the window. Remus shut his door and locked it with a _click_. A plush black dog sat at the head of the little cot in the corner, where Sirius took a seat. Remus, tucking his knees under chin and folding his arms around his legs, sat beside him.

"Hey," Remus said, and the spell of silence was broken.

He forced his lips into a little grin. "Hey."

Remus bit his lip.

Sirius frowned, brushing the black fringe out of his eyes. "So. Umm—nice dog, there. Where'd you get it?"

"A gift," his friend said with an eye roll. "You prat."

x.x.x

Regulus hurried downstairs to see who was calling for him and his mum. To see whom his brother had let into the house.

"Regulus!" he heard when he reached the foot of the steps. He turned.

The man was tall, and looked imposing even as he ruffled his black-and-gray hair anxiously. "Regulus," he repeated. "Is your mother home?"

He seemed—_familiar_—in a vague sort of way. But Regulus couldn't place an instance or a name, and he had no idea how this man knew _his _name.

Regulus took a wary step back. "Mum!" he called. "Mum, there's somebody—somebody's here. I—I think maybe he knows you."

x.x.x

"Where's Sirius?" she said as she looked around the room.

"He—he ran out," Orion said. "Wal, please, they're my—I just need to—please."

He was older, but just as handsome as she remembered him. Walburga tasted the bitter resentment in the back of her mouth.

"No," she said.

She felt Regulus tug at her sleeve. "Mum?" he whispered in her ear. "Who is that?"

"No one important, dear," she said. "Go on back upstairs. I'll take care of everything."

Her son was halfway up the stairs when her husband—her once-upon-a-time husband—called him back. "Wait!" Orion cried.

Regulus stopped.

"_Regulus,_" she said in harsher tones. "I am your mother and I am telling you to go upstairs. Now."

x.x.x

And suddenly he knew who this vaguely familiar man was.

"_I am your mother and I am telling you to go upstairs. Now."_

Regulus went.

x.x.x

"Did you know," Sirius said as his friend leaned against the headboard, "that my father looks exactly like me? Or—I look exactly like him, I guess."

Remus blinked. "No," he murmured. "No, I—I didn't."

He nodded. "But then—I guess you look pretty much just like yours, too, hmm? From what I remember of him, at least."

Sirius hadn't even blinked before Remus was on top of him.

x.x.x

Remus only remembered feeling this way once before, recalled only one other instance when his blood had turned hot and pulsed through his body like it did now, just straight to his face and straight to his fists, and his clear-thinking, rational mind was gone, replaced by a confused mess of fiery anger, red and burning, and his nails pierced the skin of his palm as his fists clenched and throbbed and—and he recognized that sound—that distinct _smack—_skin on skin—two _smacks_—three—

Oh damn.

x.x.x

"Wal," Orion said to her when Regulus was safely out of earshot. "Wal—I know—you have every right to hate me. But—but I just want to—to know my sons. I'm not very—I don't have much money, anymore. No one wants to hire a pediatrician like—like me. As soon as they find out I'm—I'm _sick, _I know that's what people think—it's—well. I don't get much work, I suppose."

There were so many things Walburga wanted to say—scream—but she settled for silence. Yelling into a piece of plastic was one thing, but her throat closed up at the sight of this wretched human being in front of her.

"But what I mean is—I mean—it's all yours," he continued hurriedly. "Everything I have—I don't know how much good it would do—but you can have it all. Everything. Whatever you need to—to support yourself. And the boys. Just—I can't ask you to forgive me, I know, but—just—I want to _know_ them. Please."

She took a breath. Swallowed. "You chased one of _them_ off, it seems. And the other didn't even recognize you."

Orion stood awkwardly in the front room, fiddling with the collar of his shirt and looking rather out of place. He said nothing.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she said with as much cool politeness as she could muster. "But you don't belong here anymore. You belong with—with _him_."

"He's gone," Orion murmured almost inaudibly. "Didn't want me to come back here, but—but I just couldn't _not_. Not anymore. Not when—I—I have _sons_."

"You _had _sons," she said. _Don't cry, Wal, just breathe, and for God's sake don't throw a fit now. Regulus is just upstairs_. "You don't belong here anymore."

His head turned and he looked around the entranceway, the living room, the staircase, as if suddenly realizing that they were strange and unfamiliar to him. That they—that he—no longer fit.

His eyes finally settled on Walburga and she felt herself flinch.

"Don't make me say it again," she said in a near whisper. "Please."

x.x.x

And Remus was off him just as quickly.

Sirius winced and gingerly fingered the skin under and around his left eye, but made no move to fight back. "Fuck," he murmured.

He could hear the other boy's breathing, heavy and erratic.

"Fuck," Remus echoed. "Let me—just—just w-wait there and I'll—I'll run downstairs and—and g-get you some ice." He bit his bottom lip. "It doesn't—err—look t-too good."

Sirius nodded slowly.

x.x.x

Remus sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, trying to breathe.

Just breathe.

Goddamnitohchristshitohgodohdeargod.

He got up and scooped some ice from the freezer into a glass for Sirius.

On the way back, Remus made sure to avoid the living room where his dad was sleeping.

x.x.x

"Hey."

Sirius looked up to see Remus at the door, a glass full of ice in his hand.

"Hey," Sirius said.

Remus closed and locked the door behind him and sat back down on the bed.

"Here," he said, handing Sirius the glass with the ice.

Sirus took a large cube of the clear, cool ice and placed it over his left eye as the other boy leaned over him worriedly.

"That'll—that'll be a bruise f-for sure," Remus murmured with a tone of contrition, running his fingers along Sirius' cheek, directly underneath the sore area. "I—I never wanted—I wouldn't ever—God," he finally settled on. "I'm sorry."

Sirius turned his head to see Remus' eyes, big and amber and scared.

"It's fine," he said.

Sirius leaned over, still holding the ice to his eye, and pressed his lips to the other boy's. Remus responded fervently, and Sirius fisted his free hand in his friend's t-shirt. He felt the lingering pain around his eye being washed away by a wave of an entirely different pain, a burning pain that started in his lips and culminated somewhere deep in the caverns of his chest.

Remus pulled away and, assuming his earlier position, bent his knees and tucked them under his chin. "So was that—his c-car, then?" he asked. "In the drive, I mean. Your—your father's?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "He's a faggot, did you know?"

No reply.

"You're the second person I've ever said that to."

No reply.

"Hey, Moony?"

"Hmm?" Remus intoned quietly.

"Can I ask you," Sirius began, "why—I mean, what did I—how come you—?"

"It's r-really stupid," he murmured. "Although," he continued with a tight, humorless grin, "I suppose that you—you'd understand."

"Yeah?"

"I just—it's j-just that—" Remus frowned. "I can't stand being compared to my father."

x.x.x

The sky was black, the road ahead illuminated only by the streetlight, when Sirius finally walked home.

The beaten-up Volkswagon that had been parked in the drive was nowhere to be seen.

x.x.x

_you've missed out on a once in a lifetime chance sirius a once in a lifetime chance to really get to know the bloke who screwed us all over and isn't that a bloody shame well fuck maybe it is_

x.x.x

After Sirius went home, Remus noticed that, in the earlier frenzy of things, his stuffed Padfoot had somehow ended up on the floor.

He picked the dog up and brushed it off, placing it back on the bed where it belonged.

x.x.x

"Sirius!" his mother exclaimed when he entered the house. "Don't you _ever_ run off like that without telling me where you're going again, do you understand?"

Sirius shrugged. "Not like you didn't know where I was," he mumbled.

"Still," she said. "Tell me next time."

Her gaze focused on his left eye for a moment, but she said nothing.

x.x.x

_please god no he's his father all over again no he can't be this is sirius he's my son your son wal he can't be he's yours and he isn't bruised like his father he can't be you're just going crazy i'm hallucinating going absolutely bloody insane please god say i'm going crazy_

x.x.x

He went upstairs.

x.x.x

Sirius studied his face in the bathroom mirror. A ring of purplish black was already beginning to form around his swollen-shut eye, and he saw an incipient Orion Black—patheticfreakfaggotfreak—looking at him from behind the glass.

Sirius was irked to find that he couldn't remember which of his father's eyes had been blacked. Was it the left? Damn it. It wasn't the left, was it?

x.x.x

Remus jumped when he heard a thunderous pounding at his door.

The knob rattled and shook and the pounding continued.

"Fucking _faggot!_" he heard the gruff baritone of his father's voice cry from the other side of the door. "Fucking faggot, haven't I told you not to lock the bloody door? You'll have to come out eventually, and maybe _then _you can explain how you thought I wouldn't notice that other freak leaving the house, eh?"

More pounding. Remus sat on his bed, silent.

"I'll break the damned door down if I have to!" John cried. "And then you won't have to worry about _locking_ it anymore."

More pounding. Remus heard the crack of wood splintering.

"Haven't you learned _anything _from me, boy? Huh? Haven't I taught you fucking _anything?_"

Yes, Remus thought. Unfortunately.

x.x.x

Monday morning.

"Sirius, for Christ's sake, I didn't want to say anything on the bus—but—what happened to your _face?_"

Sirius gathered his books and shut his locker, turning to face his friend. "Hit it on the bedpost," he said with a little smirk.

James rolled his hazel eyes from behind his glasses. "You're such a berk. Was it Regulus?"

"Please," Sirius said. "You think my thirteen-year-old brother can pack a punch like that?"

James shrugged.

"It was Remus," he said.

James snorted. "No, really. Who did it?"

"I _told _you. It was Remus," Sirius said emphatically, but he smiled as if sharing some grand joke. "He's done it before. Remember how I looked after the first of last year?"

"Don't be your obnoxious self, for once," James said. "I woke up that morning with pretty much no recollection the night before, but when you showed up to school with that awful—well. Anyway, you talked to me, didn't you? And you didn't seem angry or anything, so I figured it was water under the bridge."

"Nope," Sirius said, still smiling. "Just good old Moony."

"Fine," James said. "I'm terribly sorry for being a mate and trying to show a little concern, but I guess if you'd rather not divulge—"

"He's got a split lip," Sirius cut in. "Remus has. Did you notice? And I don't see you nagging him like the Spanish bloody Inquisition."

James pursed his lips. "That's totally different and you know it," he said. "It _was_ Regulus, wasn't it?"

Sirius just shrugged.

x.x.x

**a/n: ** So sorry for the wait, guys! See above a/n for more apologies than you can count. Erm, forgive and leave love?


	14. Fractional Expressions and Imperfect

**a/n: **Warning: Ah, this chapter sort of actually does have, like, M-rated stuff in it. And there will be more in future chapters. So, yeah. I warned you and all that.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Fourteen: Fractional Expressions and Imperfect Wrists

x.x.x

"Look here," Lily whispered, though the library was nearly completely empty save for them and Pince. She pointed to a passage in the textbook that lay on the table between them. "It says that bisecting a 45-45-90 across the hypotenuse creates two more 45-45-90s. Mirror images, see?" she finished, dragging her finger to a diagram at the bottom of the page.

"Hmm." Severus nodded. "But how do we incorporate that into the proof?"

Her green eyes lit up as she explained terms like "bisection" and "reflexive property" and "side-angle-side," and Severus found his mind wandering to Lily and her illuminated eyes—her perfect, illuminated eyes, always fresh and green and alive.

Quite perfect, her eyes. Few people could boast any perfect physical attributes at all, but Lily most definitely possessed two: her eyes and her wrists. Thinking of her second perfect attribute, Severus took Lily's hands from the textbook and turned them so that her palms faced the ceiling.

She paused her lecture and smiled.

Severus loved her wrists most of all. He loved the fragile, soft expanses of vulnerability. They really were perfect, her wrists, so pristine, all white and blue and unmarred, and Severus placed his hands over them, feeling the warmth and the rhythm of her pulse against his fingertips. "Geometry," he whispered, bending to speak into her ear, "is boring."

Lily giggled softly, as if he had said something rather more witty, and he planted a swift peck on her cheek.

"You've got lovely wrists, did you know?" he murmured, setting her hands facedown back on the textbook. He picked up a pencil. "Now stop distracting me and help me finish this proof, would you?"

And Lily laughed and rolled her fresh green eyes and delved into the explanation once more.

x.x.x

The flat was dark and mostly empty.

He'd done it. He'd left.

Orion rolled over on the bare mattress, pulling his jacket around himself for warmth. _He_ had left, and taken a good deal of their belongings with him. The bedspread and the sheets, blankets, all of the clothes except a few things of Orion's, the cutlery and dishware, not to mention the coffee table, oriental rug, and smallest of several bookshelves—including the books, of course.

It was a full eight hours' drive from his former place of residence to his current, and by the time Orion had arrived back at the flat a week ago, the place had been stripped bare, and _he _was nowhere to be found.

He had warned him, of course. Sworn that if Orion went back to his had-been family, he would leave and never return. But Orion hadn't felt that crack of finality in his chest until he had arrived at the flat—_home_—and found half of its furnishings and half of its residents gone. Simply_ gone_, and leaving nothing but empty space—around Orion and inside him.

His mind flickered to Walburga, pretty as ever but so much more solemn, and he wondered—often, he wondered—how she must have felt that first morning she woke to an empty bed. The morning after that summer night, warm and buzzing with crickets and nervous energy, when he had finally worked up the courage to leave, to slip out of his bed and out of his family forever.

How much different had her situation then been from his now? Well—Orion hadn't taken anything from the house, he remembered. Only himself. Though sometimes he thought maybe even that had been too much.

Orion buried his face into the one pillow that _he _had left and sighed. The flat was dark and mostly empty and the night was cold and silent and he was very much alone.

x.x.x

The reception was lovely and not too overdrawn, but Peter let out a breath of relief as the bride and groom kissed, the organ sounded, and the congregation shuffled stiffly out of the sanctuary.

He spotted Susanna at the reception, standing out from the crowd in her pea green bridesmaid dress.

"Glad that's over," he whispered to her as the cake was cut. "Our family sits through enough church without anyone up and getting married."

Susanna laughed. "Mary's married!" she intoned. "Always figured Elizabeth would be the first," she continued, "but, if the name fits—"

Peter rolled his eyes and cut himself a thick slice of wedding cake. "I was surprised Mum was so happy about it, actually," he said. "I mean, she's barely nineteen, and Mark's going on thirty."

"Well, money and all that," Susanna said, her pursed lips conveying a rare bout of seriousness. "He _is _a doctor."

The conversation was halted as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley approached, trailed by a whole brood of redheaded children and grandchildren.

"Peter, Susie!" Mr. Weasley greeted with a smile. "You must be very happy for your older sister, hmm? March is such a lovely month for weddings."

x.x.x

Her sister cut the waffle into halves.

Lily tapped her finger on the edge of the table—one, two, please, eat.

And then into quarters.

One, two, three, four, eat, your, break, fast.

"Aren't you hungry?" Lily asked, trying desperately to smooth over the edge in her voice.

Petunia frowned and shrugged. She cut the waffle into eighths.

One and, two and, three and, four and, eat eat, please eat, Jesus, just eat.

She cut an eighth into two sixteenths.

"Just eat the bloody waffle!" Lily cried suddenly, slamming her hand onto the wooden table.

She saw Petunia flinch and wished that she hadn't yelled like that, and wished that their mum would hurry up and come downstairs because she handled these sorts of things so much better than Lily did.

But now, Petunia impaled exactly one-sixteenth of the waffle on her fork, brought it to her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. She repeated this with the second sixteenth and two more eighths.

Lily breathed. "Sorry," she murmured.

Petunia ate another two eighths.

x.x.x

After two weeks, Orion bought a new bedspread. New sheets and blankets.

Three weeks, new dishes. New cutlery.

Four weeks, he scraped together all he had (and sold two of the four kitchen chairs) to pay the rent.

Five weeks, and _he_ waltzed right back in, bringing with him several full suitcases, a rolled-up oriental rug, a small bookshelf (plus books), and an old wooden coffee table.

Orion looked up from the table where he had been eating a breakfast of toast and jam as _he _closed the door behind himself, casual as ever.

"I'm home," the man said, a little smirk playing on his lips. "I see that you are too."

Orion said nothing, simply gazed at the dark but graying hair and sharp, brilliant blue eyes, not quite sure whether to tremble in fear or sigh in relief.

"Brought back the coffee table," he said casually. "And all the rest of it. I suppose the family reunion didn't go as planned?"

Orion's throat closed. "You—you were right, of course," he said. "I don't belong there anymore." He ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "Never should've gone back."

The other man said nothing, but he walked up to Orion and gave him a harsh kiss on the mouth. "Of course I was," he said gently. "Now—no more crazy ideas of going back to _them_, hmm?" And he gripped Orion's neck only a bit more tightly than simple concern necessitated.

Orion shook his head. "No," he murmured. "Never. Never should have left you. I was—when I came back, it was—lonely. I thought—thought you'd really gone for good."

"Of course not," the other man said, releasing his grip on Orion's neck and planting a gentler kiss over his right eye, which was back to its normal hue. Still, Orion felt a phantom pain. "You simply needed to be—taught a lesson," he finished after a brief pause. And_ he_ laughed, as light and chilling as a gust of cold air. "No one gets rid of Tom Riddle that easily."

x.x.x

The afternoon glowed with a lazy warmth that only the bright sun of July could achieved, and Sirius stretched and leaned against the trunk of the willow.

He felt the warmth of the day pool in the bottom of his stomach as he watched Remus lick the last gooey traces of chocolate from his lips and his fingers.

"It's next year," Sirius said.

"It's _this_ year," Remus replied, smacking his lips and grinning.

"Well—it sure as hell isn't _last _year."

"No," Remus agreed. "No, it—it's not last year."

Sirius leaned over just enough to brush his lips to Remus', still sticky-sweet from the chocolate. As he pulled back he noticed that Remus' cheeks were flushed bright pink, though whether from the heat of the day or the heat of the kiss Sirius couldn't tell.

"Happy birthday, you bloody chocolate fiend."

Remus laughed, and the day became that much warmer.

x.x.x

"Damn it," Severus said, tossing the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stepping on it with the heel of his shoe as he fished through his pockets fruitlessly. "Anyone got a stick of gum?"

The general consensus was no, and Severus cursed again.

"What's it to you, anyways?" Avery asked.

He blushed. "I'm—meeting with—someone. In"—he grabbed Rosier's arm and peered at his wristwatch—"five minutes."

"Aha!" Rosier cried, snatching his arm back and puckering his lips into an exaggerated kiss. "Meetin' with the _girlfriend_, eh? Mwah, mwah, mwah—Snap-ey and Lil-y, sittin' in a tree, k-i-s-s-i—"

"Christ, _Rosie_," Severus cut in with a scowl, "are you five bloody years old or something?"

Mulciber smirked. Avery laughed and gave Rosier a small shove. "Rosie, huh? Very nice. Like you've always said—guy's a _real wit._"

"Oh, fuck the lot of ya," Rosier declared in good humor.

"Yeah, well, plenty of time of that later," Severus said, standing up from the park bench. "Tragically, I am compelled to abandon this gathering of juvenile delinquents."

"That's right!" Rosier called as he walked away. "Gotta brush them pearlies, eh? Don't wanna smell like fags for the _girlfriend_."

That was exactly his plan, and Severus stifled a frown at what was either Rosier's insight or his own transparency. Instead, he smirked.

"You've got it,_ Rosie,_" he called back as he made his way down the street. "And don't you damned forget it."

x.x.x

"Sev!" Lily exclaimed as she opened the door. "You're fifteen minutes late. Where've you been?"

_Brushing my teeth and changing my clothes so that I wouldn't have to listen to you nag, but that was apparently too much to hope for. _"Oh, you know," he said with a shrug. "Nowhere important. We'd better get to work on naming those binary compounds, hmm? First exam of the year and all."

She frowned disapprovingly as she led him inside. "You were with those boys, weren't you?"

Severus put on the most innocent face he could muster, which made him look not very innocent at all but at least slightly less jaded than usual. "_Which_ boys?"

She rolled her green eyes. "_Those _boys, Severus. Those good-for-nothing—_punks_— who seem to have taken a liking to you."

He smirked. "Well, Lily, you can hardly blame me for being so naturally likeable."

This comment put a pretty little grin on her face, and Severus felt his stomach jump.

"Well, there is that, of course," she said with a bit of facetious indulgence. "But—maybe—just in _this _case—you could try to be, you know, a little less charismatic. I know it's hard for you, being such a people person."

He let out a soft chuckle.

"But—I really don't like them," she continued more seriously. "They—they skip class, Severus, and they _smoke, _and they certainly don't—well. And that one bloke—is his name Mulciber? He just scares me. Does he ever speak?"

Severus shrugged. "He's a man of few words."

She smiled a little, then seemed to remember that she was reprimanding him and pursed her lips. "I just think that—the thing is—you're just—you're better than that, Severus. You know?"

No, Severus didn't know, because he wasn't better than that. Not by a long shot. But his chest warmed considerably with the knowledge that _Lily_ considered him better than that.

"I just mean—you could really do things, you know? You could—you could go to University, if that's what you wanted. In five years, I mean, who knows where that lot will be? Prison, most likely. But what about you, Sev? Where do you want to be?"

_Wherever you are._

"I'm—well—I'll stop," Lily said with a tiny blush. "Sorry. You didn't come here for me to lecture you."

"Oh, but you're so_ good _at it," Severus said in an only slightly mocking tone.

She smiled and slapped him on the arm playfully. "Do you want to study chemistry, or what?"

He quirked an eyebrow suggestively and Lily burst into a fit of giggles before stepping on his foot ("_Jesus, _woman, that hurt!") and taking him to the living room, where her science book lay on the couch.

x.x.x

"Put your damned book away and take out the trash," Tobias ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. "And then you can do the dishes, since your mother isn't—feeling up to it, right now."

"No," his said, feeling strangely bold, and turned the page in his text. "I have an exam tomorrow. Do the dishes yourself and I'll take out the trash tomorrow."

Tobias walked from the doorway of Severus' room to the bed, where Severus sat with his chemistry book open in front of him.

_Fuck, why did I say that? I'm a fucking idiot, stupid, stupid, damn it. Looking for a beating, huh? Just gagging for it._

"Did you _hear _me, you son of a bitch? I am your fatherand I am telling you to put the book away. _Now_."

Defiantly, Severus turned another page, though he hadn't finished reading the previous one.

Severus saw his father clench his calloused fists, but felt the impact of the punch before he had a chance to duck. He reeled backwards on the bed, knocking his textbook to the floor.

_Shouldn't have done that, shouldn't have done that. Why do I have to be so obstinate, for God's sake? I knew what was coming, I knew, I knew. Christ, but I must be gagging for a good bruising._

His father picked up the book from the floor and left the room.

Severus jumped off the bed and quickly followed his father across the little one-story house, all the way to the bathroom.

"You think you're so fucking clever, huh?" his father sneered, holding the textbook over his head.

Severus kept his mouth shut, unsure of why his father had lured him here with his textbook, but his stomach felt queasy, full of sour suspicion.

"So proud of your silly grades, aren't you? Your pathetic excuse for an education. Does it make you feel superior? You think you're so much smarter than your old man?"

He said nothing.

"Probably have all these pretty little dreams about going to University, hmm? Spent all of Sunday afternoon with that pretty little _friend _of yours. Studying then, too, were you? Privileged bitch has probably put all_ sorts _of _pretty little_ ideas in your head."

Severus bit his lip and crossed his arms, feeling that his abdomen had been bisected, sliced open, right in two, the skin peeled back roughly, and now all of his insides were suddenly vulnerable to the cruel scrutiny of his father. "She's—she's not a privileged bitch," he murmured, trying desperately to keep his now-exposed guts from spilling all over the bathroom floor.

His father laughed, cold and sharp and jarring to Severus' ears. "Education isn't for the likes of _you, _boy. Who's going to pay for you to go to University, huh? Have you got a father hiding around here somewhere with the money for that? Better yet—a father who actually gives a shit?"

His father held the textbook over the toilet bowl, and Severus felt his breath catch in his throat. _No, no, no, no, no._

He dropped it. The book made a marvelous splash as it landed in the loo and a bit of toilet water spilled onto the bathroom floor.

And Severus' guts spilled everywhere.

"Because _that's_ what your pretty little dreams and your pretty little grades are worth, boy. _Shit. _Now take out the God-forsaken trash."

And so he did. And then he washed the dishes. And then, when his father was in bed, Severus snuck into the bathroom, rolled up his sleeves, and attempted to salvage the soggy remains of his chemistry book.

x.x.x

The metal cuffs were digging into his wrists, but Orion knew better than to struggle. In front of his eyes was nothing but darkness, thick blankets of black, but he could feel the bruising touch of the cuffs and the bruising touch of Tom, who was silent except for his light breathing, and whose elegant hand was cold and cruel as the metal around Orion's wrists.

A finger.

He chewed into his lip to keep from gasping.

A fist.

He gasped.

"I think we're about ready," Tom whispered.

x.x.x

Orion's weeks were divided into two categories: weeks when Tom worked, and the weeks when Tom didn't, though the latter happened seldom at most.

Weeks when Tom worked were divided into five days of Orion being mostly left alone and two days of Orion being used as a human punching bag. They were divided into four nights of uninterrupted sleep, two nights of painfully rough fucking, and one night of only slightly rough makeup sex.

Tonight was Saturday night, and Tom had been started his workweek on Monday.

x.x.x

Tom quickly flicked on the light switch, and the darkness of the bedroom was drowned by the fluorescent overhead.

Blue jeans still unzipped and unbuttoned, and shirttail still untucked, he fished a key from his pocket and unlocked Orion's manacles.

Naked and sticky with sweat, Orion fell limply to the mattress and curled in on himself. Rings of purple and black bloomed around his wrists, and he pulled his hands to his chest.

Tom stepped out of his jeans and quickly unbuttoned and shed his shirt. Adjusting his boxer shorts, he turned the light back off and the two men were once more blanketed in darkness.

Orion felt rather than saw Tom slipping into bed next to him, pulling the covers over them both. And he heard rather than felt Tom's whisper of "Goodnight, love," in his ear.

x.x.x

"_University?_" Rosier repeated, apparently taken by surprise.

"Well, yeah," Severus said. "I just mean—haven't you ever thought about it? You're a year ahead of me. Only the rest of this year and then next before you're out of school."

Rosier laughed. "_University, _the bloke says. Look, Snape, you're smart, and not just in the booky way. You oughta know that blokes like me—an' even a brain like you—ain't cut out for Uni."

Severus shrugged. "Well, I don't see why not," he said quietly. "Maybe you're not an _exemplary _student, but you're not an idiot. You're still in school, at least. You could get into University if you tried."

"You're fuckin' kidding, right?" he scoffed. "I woulda dropped out of the first grade if it was legal, and if I'd had anything what was better to do. As it is, soon as I'm outta school, I'm out on my arse, far as my folks are concerned. And my folks' place is a living hell, but it's a living hell with a roof and some sort of excuse food in the pantry more often than not. You think _they'll_ pay for Uni?"

Severus bit his lip and said nothing, because he knew the answer and he hated it.

"Never took you for naïve, Snape. But Uni's for the privileged lot, not the likes of us. Only reason I stick around in school is so's I don't have to get out and work just yet. My cousin—_Jesus_—he's two years older than me and he dropped out what when he was sixteen. And now, that bloke _works. _Bleeding steel mill. _Shit _job's what it is, and dangerous, too. But as soon as I'm outta school, I'll prob'ly be in line for another shit job at that same mill. If I'm lucky. And if you're smart as what I think you are, you'd line somethin' like that up, too. Get outta your hell hole, and get a job that'll get you some pay, 'cause no one's gonna just hand you food for going to Uni and shovin' your nose in a book."

x.x.x

A week after the first examination of the year, Mr. Slughorn greeted his class with a jovial laugh, tugging at his thick, graying mustache as he handed back the test papers.

"Some fared better than others, to be sure," he said, "but your class did well on a whole. In fact, I think we've got at least a couple who ought to consider studying chemistry at the University level in a few years." The heavy-set teacher aimed a rather unsubtle wink at the two-to-a-table desk where Severus and Lily sat.

Severus smiled a little at seeing his perfect score, but his teacher's words had nonetheless caused an uneasiness to settle at the bottom of his stomach.

Lily peered at his examination over his shoulder. "Nice job," she whispered.

"Thanks. And you?" he asked.

"Same."

He grinned. "Maybe at least one of us will take old Slughorn's advice, hmm?"

A tiny smile played on her lips. "Maybe. But what about the other?"

Severus shrugged. "More than anything, I'd like to study the sciences," he whispered. "But University is—it's not something for everyone."

Lily frowned and opened her mouth as if to argue, but promptly closed it and pulled out her notebook when Slughorn cleared his throat and began to lecture.

x.x.x

The mid-December cold was brutal on stringed instruments, and Peter spent nearly twenty minutes in his bedroom tuning his violin in preparation for his youth orchestra's Christmas recital that night.

Since Elizabeth and Mary had left home, Susanna had abandoned the room she and Mary once shared and taken to sleeping in their mum's room, giving Peter the vacated bedroom that was painted pink and smelled like girl.

At first, she had invited Peter to share it with her, but their mother had declared that "no, really, at your age that's simply indecent, and why don't we just move one of the twin beds so that you can sleep in the big bedroom with me, Susie?"

Which was perfectly fine with Peter. Ever since he had moved into his sisters' old room, he'd felt freer than ever to practice as much as he wished. He could simply close the door and not have to worry about Susanna exclaiming that she was on the phone or his mother pleading for some quiet while she graded papers.

Also, he had taken his first violin—his shoebox, as he now fondly thought of it—from the bottom of his mother's wardrobe and proudly placed it on top of the dresser like a trophy. Sometimes, while he was sitting on the bed and doing his homework, Peter would glance at the little violin and smile.

He finished tuning his current violin—a pricey full-size, on loan from the music store, that gave a lovely, bright sound—and then packed it up, knowing he would have to retune it when he arrived at the concert hall.

"Mum!" he called. "We've got to be there in half an hour!"

x.x.x

"Fucking slut," Tom spat. "Fucking slut of a faggot."

_Crack _and blood and a nose that might heal but would never look quite the same.

Orion cringed, because how and when did everything turn sour? When had he become soft and bruised and unwanted like a piece of overripe fruit? A pear, or a plum.

There was a reason he had left his family for Tom so long ago. There must have been a reason.

He breathed in and coughed, sending droplets of blood flying, spattering his shirt. He clutched his nose protectively.

There was a reason, but Orion no longer remembered it.

"I'm leabin'," he choked out as best he could through a fistful of blood. Leaning against the wall for the support, Orion sank to the floor. He looked up into the frigid blue eyes of the other man and felt a shiver run up his spine.

x.x.x

_don't be a coward orion just say it i have to say it what can he do to you huh he can't do anything to me he hasn't already and i'm not trapped here am i no i don't see the handcuffs anywhere_

x.x.x

"I'm _leaving_," he repeated as clearly as he could with his hand still over his nose. "For good."

"Oh no," Tom replied casually, his voice like a razorblade. "No one leaves Tom Riddle."

Orion barely had a chance to feel the blow of the boot to the side of his head before the world turned black.

x.x.x

He woke in a heap on the floor, his shirt rumpled and caked in dried blood, alone and disoriented.

Stretching his aching limbs, Orion crept into the bedroom to find Tom, in bed and asleep.

He quietly opened the dresser and found a clean shirt, hurriedly changed, and walked out of the bedroom to the front door of the flat.

x.x.x

_c'mon orion now's my chance now's your fucking chance and you've done this before haven't you yeah i've done so much leaving i should be a right pro by now you should be a pro_

x.x.x

He left.

x.x.x

**a/n: **You know what I want (besides Sirius, Remus, and lots of chocolate).


	15. Give

**a/n:** SORRYSORRYSORRY. Please forgive me for never updating due to the fact that I'm one of those freaks who actually cares about school. But exams are over and updates will be way faster now. Promise.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Fifteen: Give

x.x.x

The cramped motel room stank of mildew and stale sex, and in the dark of night he could scarcely distinguish the shape of the young woman sitting on the bed in front of him.

"How much?" he murmured.

"First," she said, and the claustrophobic walls seemed to echo, to magnify her voice, "why don't you tell me what it is exactly that you want?"

He ran a hand through his hair.

Orion frowned. He'd asked the concierge for a girl, and he'd asked for a girl for a reason, and he _almost_ remembered what that reason was.

"Just to fuck," he finally said.

She put a small hand on his groin and skillfully unfastened his belt buckle. She unzipped his trousers and rubbed him to hardness through his boxer shorts.

"Just to fuck," he repeated, more to himself than to her. "To remember what it's like not to be the one getting fucked."

The young woman placed her warm, wet mouth over the thin cloth that covered his growing bulge as she unbuttoned her blouse. She removed her panties from under her tiny skirt with a swift dexterity that spoke of much practice.

"No worries there," she took her mouth off of him just long enough to murmur. "The getting fucked is my job."

x.x.x

"Condom?" she asked in the dark. "I've run out, I'm afraid."

"Umm—no," Orion murmured apologetically. He hadn't kept condoms in years.

"No worries," she said. "Just a little extra charge to cover the morning-after pill."

She flicked on the lamp.

"Unlatch this for me, will you?" she said, turning her back to him and holding up her sleek black hair. He thought of his had-been wife.

Around her neck was a choker, gold and glimmering in the dim lamplight.

"I'd hate to have it ruined," she continued.

Orion grunted his consent and, feeling the cold metal on his fingers, unhooked the choker.

"That's—err—a lovely piece of jewelry, you have there," he said, his voice somewhat stilted.

"Thank you," she replied, turning and smiling at him. Her black eyes widened momentarily as they landed on his bruised face, but she continued to smile.

Orion felt his stomach jerk.

"Well then," she said, placing her necklace reverently on the nightstand and flicking the dim light back off. She ran her tongue up his chest. "Back to business, hmm?"

x.x.x

Patrick nodded approvingly as he chewed his wife's lasagna. "Delicious," he said, and she smiled that pretty little smile of hers from across the little table.

His gut wrenched, but Patrick just chewed and swallowed.

He loved Virginia. He did. And it wasn't her fault she was sickly. Exhausted and sickly and no longer—_well_—since she'd had James. James—their first and their last and their everything in between. Hard to believe that had been sixteen years ago.

He would break it off, Patrick told himself. He had told himself that a thousand times, and a few times he'd even told _her, _but then those big, dark eyes turned round and scared and wet. "Please," she would say. "I need—please."

_She_ deserved better.

Virginia deserved better.

But when he considered hurting either of them, his gut wrenched all over again.

"Yeah, Mum," James picked up. "You really outdid yourself."

His heart expanded with pride at even the most insignificant words of his boy. Patrick took off his glasses and rubbed them clean on his shirtsleeve—terrible habit—and when he put them back on and took a good look at James, instead of his boy he saw a mature young adult, tall and lean, all shoulders and sharp angles. And if it weren't for the same messy black hair and bespectacled hazel eyes, he might have wondered where his son had gone.

x.x.x

"Going to James'," Sirius called as he stepped out the door.

And that was his plan, really. But when he looked down the street and noticed something huddled and shivering underneath the willow, Sirius thought that perhaps he would take a slight detour.

x.x.x

Kissing Remus created a marvelous fountain of warmth inside of him, starting at his lips and flowing from his mouth down his throat, filling all the dark nooks and secret places of his stomach and his chest so that he was protected from the biting January air.

The familiar warmth rippled through Sirius' body at the splash of tongues colliding, and weren't Remus' teeth so smooth and nice, and that little gap of gum in back that Sirius had never noticed—

He pulled away abruptly, the comprehension sudden and stone cold.

x.x.x

"Moony—your tooth."

Remus looked away.

Sirius persisted. "You're missing a tooth in back?"

"Isn't i-important," his friend murmured.

"It damned well _is_ important," he contradicted. "I never realized—"

"_Please_, Sirius," Remus said. "Just—leave it."

"Teeth don't just keep growing back, Remus. There's only so much—"

"For God's _sake, _Sirius, it isn't fucking _important!_"

He saw Remus' face flush red, his fingers twitch, fists clench, anxiously.

x.x.x

Three seconds later, Sirius was spitting blood, the soft taste of Remus on his lips now forgotten, overwhelmed by the coppery tang.

x.x.x

There were moments—instants, really, flashes of realization—when Remus felt sick to his stomach with the knowledge that he didn't deserve to live.

His knees buckled and he fell, shaking, to the hard earth, clenching and unclenching his fists as if to assure himself that, yes, he was in control.

Six months ago. The last time had been six months ago. And God, if Remus hadn't tried _so hard so hard so hard _to never let it happen again. He had even prayed, once. He'd pulled out his mother's rosary—the wooden one she kept hidden in her pillowcase—and he couldn't remember the Hail Mary or Our Father she had once taught him, but he had held onto it and prayed, _Dear God, please please please don't let it be too late._

"S-Sirius, I—I—"

But he was shaking too violently, his breaths huge and gulping—the words wouldn't come.

"I know," Sirius said, his voice somewhat muffled, and Remus tilted his chin upwards to face—_oh Jesus_ _look at that blood. _"I know."

Which was impressive, because Remus really wasn't even sure whether he had been about to say, "I hurt you," or, "I'm sorry," or, "I just want to die."

But Sirius probably knew it all.

x.x.x

With his left hand holding together his top lip, still gushing the liquid, warm and the color of love of anger, Sirius kneeled on the ground and wrapped his left arm around the other boy's still quivering shoulders.

"Shh," he said, smoothing out Remus' shakes with the pressure of his grip. "Shh."

And maybe it was silly and a little embarrassing, this compulsion he felt to look after his friend, and the logical half of him kept saying, _Look at what he's capable of. He's hurt you. He'll hurt you more. He doesn't need your protection._

But where Remus was concerned—well, Sirius had always been a bit overprotective.

"There's only so much you can give," he whispered, maybe to Remus, maybe to himself.

x.x.x

He didn't make it to James' that night.

x.x.x

"Sirius," his mother said as he shoveled spaghetti into his sore and swollen mouth. "Perhaps you'd like to stay after dinner and help me with the dishes?"

He swallowed and frowned, his eyes darting across the table to his brother. "What about Reg?" he said. "He helping too?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"But Mum—"

"_No,_" she said, voice stern. "Help me with the dishes after dinner, Sirius. Alone."

x.x.x

Sirius was drying a dish when she said it.

"This has to stop."

He placed the dish on the counter. "It's—what has to stop? What are you talking about?"

"_This,_ Sirius," she said in the no-nonsense tone that only a mother could achieve. "I understand that you and James are best friends, and I know it's only natural for you to—to _roughhouse. _That's—it's what boys _do, _I know, and I try to make allowances, really, because I don't want to be overbearing. But I have a duty as your mother to tell you that I think this is getting out of hand. I've never approved of fighting and—and you come home bruised and battered and—you're young, Sirius. I don't think you fully comprehend how seriously you and James could injure yourselves."

Sirius self-consciously brought a hand to his split lip. He stared at the linoleum floor under his bare feet and tried to extinguish the fire in chest.

"You—you think James did this to me?"

His mother pursed her lips, all pretty and painted and whole. "I think that this is not the first time you've come home from James' house in—in some sort of beaten-up condition."

"James Potter has _never _hurt me," Sirius snapped, looking his mum in the eye now. Hers were blue and cool, but he could feel his burning from behind. "Never."

She let out an exasperated huff. "Well then who, Sirius? You're just hurting yourself, is that it?"

"Maybe I am," he said as he turned away and walked out of the kitchen.

x.x.x

It was February when Orion decided to go to France.

He'd wasted an ungodly amount of money on that girl in a moment of caprice, only to feel nauseated (_you'resickorioni'mfuckingsickshouldhaveneverleft_) every time he thought about her, and whatever small change he had left to his name dwindled with each skimpy meal.

The rattrap motel in which he'd dwelled for the past month was only an hour's drive from his old life—his _old _old life—and only a day's drive from his old life—his more recent old life.

Orion needed distance. A fresh start.

(Again.)

At forty-six years old, fresh starts no longer came so easily to Orion. Another country, though—France, Orion thought, could give him a fresh start. He even remembered some French from school.

_Je ne comprends pas. Parlez-vous anglais, si'l vous plait? _

Well. Enough.

And in France, no one knew him. He knew no one.

No old life—old _lives_—in France.

If he could just scrape together the money for a ferry ticket.

x.x.x

Remus woke to a sharp "Fuck it!" and the rattling of his doorknob.

"Goddamn!" he heard his father exclaim from the other side of the door. "I've told you not to fucking lock this thing! You think a bleeding lock'll protect you, eh? That it, Remus? _Son_? So fucking frightened of your own father, eh? Scrawny likes of you wouldn't be here without me havin' been here first!"

More shaking and rattling and kicking and pounding.

And then Remus heard the thud of a rabid dog, shot dead, collapsing in a heap on the ground. The sound of a drunk man's legs giving out from underneath him.

The house was silent except for his father's loud, ragged breaths. In the black of night, Remus was sure he could see the stink of alcohol, a heavy, green cloud, as it crept into his room through the crack below the door and over to his bedside, poised, ready to smother him.

"You—you're—right," his father panted from the hallway, his voice rough in between gasps. "Bloody right—to be—afraid. I fucking—fucking—killed—a man. I'll fucking—kill you—too."

The house was silent.

x.x.x

She patted her swelling stomach contentedly and smiled a tiny peaceful smile that seemed to completely transform her face. Of course, Mary had always been the prettiest of his sisters, but Peter was used to seeing those fair features twisted into a scowl—one directed at him, more often than not.

Now, though—now she was absolutely beautiful. Only a year since her wedding, and Peter's four-months-pregnant sister appeared softer, gentler, as if preemptively assuming her new maternal role.

His bed that used to be hers squeaked underneath them as Mary leaned against the headboard. At the foot of the bed, he crossed his legs Indian style.

"Peter, I—I know this seems really odd," she said. "I just wanted to say—to tell you—I—I haven't been a very good older sister."

Unable to deny it but not sure what else he could say, Peter shrugged awkwardly and chewed on the inside of his mouth.

"Being pregnant is just—it really makes you think, you know?" She laughed suddenly. "No, of course you wouldn't know." Mary rolled her eyes.

It was the first familiar gesture she'd made, and Peter found it strangely comforting.

"You're just—just so young," Mary continued.

"So are you," he reminded in a whisper.

She snorted. "Well, I'm older than you, anyway. I just—I've thought about it. A lot. And when Dad died, you—you lost just as much as the rest of us. And you couldn't help that you were too young to remember him. But—I don't know if you remember that time you asked me about him? You probably don't. It was a long time ago, I think. You were pretty little."

Peter shrugged, but his chest tightened. He remembered.

"Well, I just—resented you. And it didn't even make sense, really. Just—you and Susanna were too young to remember, and—and Betsy's the oldest, you know, always been closest with Mum, so she still had that, but—I loved him and—I only got long enough with him to _just _get that, you know? Just old enough to really have memories and—and grasp the concept of—and I just—just always felt like my loss was the worst. Like I'd drawn the short straw or something."

Mary's blue eyes glistened and Peter couldn't quite manage to cough up a few words from the grapefruit in his throat.

"But I'm—it was petty. All four of us lost a dad, and Mum lost a husband, and that's it. And I keep thinking that I'll be a mother soon, and what if Mark died? And what if the baby never knew its father? I mean—I'd still love it, right? And I'd want it to know about him. And Mum—I—I think it was so horrible for her that she just wanted to—to erase it from her memory and move on. But that—that wasn't good for you, I think. I mean, no one thought about how—how maybe you deserved to know a little more about him. You know? And how he—died." She took a shaky breath. "Sorry, sorry. I don't want to make you feel—it's just—this pregnancy thing."

He said nothing, but nodded in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

Mary smiled a little. "You're a good listener, Pete, you know? God, I've been saying that a lot, yeah? Just—I just wanted to tell you—I guess—I'm sorry. And if you ever want to know anything about Dad—you can ask me. I don't know very much myself, to be honest, but—you can—you can always ask."

And Peter didn't ask, not just then, but as he helped her off the bed—when had he gotten taller than his older sister?—he could feel the old, latent curiosity unfurling in his chest, flexing and yawning like a waking cat.

x.x.x

The night was still and the man pinning him to the sticky mattress was a Tom. Every man who grabbed his wrists and bit his neck and fucked him senseless was a Tom.

He bit his lip and his stomach tightened into a hard, black lump of coal and the Tom thrust, thrust, hard, hard, and Orion was pretty sure that this was why he had wanted to get away in the first place.

But he would—he _would_ get away. He was determined. He just needed more distance—another quarter of an inch on the globe. Le Havre was temporary.

He was making decent money, anyway, and Orion had long become used to that irking feel of filth trapped just beneath his skin. For now, he would deal. And when he had saved enough, he would go south. He would find a day job and an apartment. He would shed the past like a dirty t-shirt, and the new, freshly laundered life would fit so well.

x.x.x

At fifteen and a half years old, Remus thought that maybe he should feel silly crawling into bed with his mother, burrowing his face in her neck, stroking her hair, long and soft and tangled with sleep.

He couldn't quite bring himself to feel silly, though. The sensation of his hands in her cool hair and his face in her warm neck was just too pleasant for Remus to genuinely care about silliness.

At four twenty-eight on a Monday morning, after lying awake for hours and trying not to fixate his eyes on the gaping hole where his doorknob used to be, he was only just now drifting to sleep, because his mother's bed was a safety zone and his mother's door was sturdy and had a proper lock.

x.x.x

Remus turned the page in his worn, second-hand chemistry book, but the words blurred in front of his eyes and he couldn't quite focus on any particular sentence.

"Hold on a second," Severus murmured, turning back again the page of Remus' book, which lay between them on the table. "Let me copy down that formula." The black-haired boy jotted something down into a notebook. "Okay," he said. "Got it. You can turn."

And Remus heard the words perfectly, but he neither processed nor completely comprehended them. He knew Severus was saying something—he should be listening, responding—but his eyelids had suddenly turned to lead and his breathing came slow, even—

"Remus!" He felt a harsh slap on his arm. "Are you all right? You're about ready to doze off."

Remus felt himself nod and run a hand through his hair. He yawned. "Yeah. Sorry."

Severus shrugged. "Chemistry will do that to you, I guess."

"I thought you liked chemistry," he said.

"Yeah, I do. But I can fully understand how it would effectively put a more feeble-minded being such as yourself to sleep." The corners of his friend's lips turned up just slightly.

Remus pulled off a lazy grin. "Right," he said, too exhausted to come up with a wittier response.

Severus quirked a brow. "Black keeping you up late, then?"

"Oh, sod off," Remus murmured. "I don't know what y-you're t-talking about."

"Right," his friend said, rolling his black eyes. "You've become accustomed to rather dense company, I fear. Strange though it may sound, just because Potter and Pettigrew haven't picked up on something doesn't mean no one else in this wide world has."

His lungs compressed inside his ribcage and his stomach squirmed and contorted. Severus had been one of his best friends for—how long? Nearly ten years? And now it was over, bam, just like that, because Severus knew he was a faggot, a freak.

Unable to face the other boy, Remus stared at the open textbook. He brought a hand to his mouth and anxiously chewed on his thumbnail.

"Hey—Remus?" Severus said.

"Don't," he whispered. "Just—just—p-please don't s-say it. I'll—I'll go, really, I won't—won't b-bother you or—"

Remus was standing up to leave when he felt a strong hand wrap around his forearm.

"What's wrong with you, Lupin?" Severus' face was serious, but his eyes shone. "You'd just up and leave your friend to fend for himself in wake of an upcoming exam?"

"You could—could study w-with Lily," he said, his breath catching as he wondered how Severus could do this, could toy with him, could mercilessly dangle his soon-to-be-revoked friendship in front of his face.

"I _could,_" Severus said. "But you're here. And she's not. And I was studying with you."

Remus couldn't totally believe his hears. He was swimming through the maple syrup of time, dazed, disoriented—perhaps he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Maybe the real Severus had up and left moments, ages, millennia ago.

"Severus?" he whispered.

A nod.

"I—why h-haven't you—you should—a-and you _know_. About Sirius."

Another nod. No "I've known about him for most of my life—the bloke lives right across the street" or "Know _what _about Black? Although I imagine there really isn't that much to know, is there?" No smart comments to make this boy the real Severus. Just another nod.

Remus closed his eyes and breathed and hoped hoped hoped that when he opened them Severus would still be there and that he wouldn't find himself facedown on the table in an empty corner of the library.

"Look," Remus heard, and his eyes snapped open. _Severus_. "I'll say it now, and I won't ever bring the goddamned thing up again. I don't like Black." Definitely the real Severus. "No bloody secret, that. And I couldn't give half a damn whether or not you're _that _way. I'm not so sophomoric as to feel somehow threatened by homosexuality." He huffed gently. "And Black—I know he's been your friend for a long time, and—and I'm not saying he doesn't care about you, because it's pretty apparent that he does, as painful as that is for me admit. But if you're not careful, he could—he could really hurt you. Remus, Black is—he's rather—clumsy."

Remus felt the hot blood rise from the bottom of his stomach up through his chest, felt it grab his throat and squeeze like a familiar hot and calloused fist, felt it stain and burn his cheeks. "No," he said quietly. "No, I—I'm the clumsy one. I've always been the clumsy one."

Severus just snorted. "Never mentioning it again," he murmured, and lifted his hands as if in surrender, though Remus wasn't sure what he thought he was giving up.

x.x.x

Orion was seized with a fit of coughing as he stepped off the train to Marseilles. He remembered the sick woman at the station and hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

x.x.x

The sheets were smooth and crisp and his wife's hair smelled fresh like apples.

"You're lovely," Patrick murmured into her mouth. "Been having a good day, hmm?"

"Good day," she whispered with sparkling eyes and a smile full of pretty white teeth. "Feeling quite well, as a matter of fact."

Her delicate hands, cool like porcelain, found his chest, and the talking ended.

x.x.x

James placed his tray on the lunch table and took a seat between Remus and Peter.

He saw Sirius lean over and whisper something in Remus' ear, and heard Remus emit a soft snort. Adjusting his glasses, James glanced sideways at Peter, who slurped loudly on his tomato soup and grinned as the rest of the table burst into laughter.

Sometimes, James thought he had imagined everything about that afternoon, about Remus and Sirius—a dream, maybe—and sometimes he thought that whatever was going on between those two was beyond the stretches of his imagination. Sometimes he wished he still knew—like he had known when he was little, deep and sure in his gut—what friendship really meant.

x.x.x

Orion Black's death was not a death to be written up in the obituaries. Orion Black's death was the death of a man with no money, no identification, no home, no family, and no reason for anyone to care.

And so, that sunny Saturday morning in May, Walburga did not read in the obituaries that her ex-husband had been found dead earlier that week (from exposure, it seemed) in the streets of downtown Marseilles, and she did not feel a funny little tug in her stomach and a tightening at the back of her throat, and she did not take a breath and calmly finish the paper, and she certainly didn't bother to take it outside to the recycling bin before the boys came downstairs for breakfast.

x.x.x

**a/n: **.x. grins guiltily and looks at review button .x.


	16. Take

**a/n: **No excuses for the wait. I'm just disgustingly lazy.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Sixteen: Take

x.x.x

Remus had taken to carrying around his mother's rosary. He didn't know how to use a rosary properly and he never prayed, anyway. But he liked the feel of it in his pocket, the extra little bit of weight, like a vague realization in the back his mind, a concept just out of reach of his vocabulary. He liked to put his hand in his pocket and run his fingers over the smooth wood of the beads. He liked to trace the outline of the cross and think about scars that weren't his own.

x.x.x

"_He took it!" the little blonde girl cried, her index finger pointed directly at Tom. _

_He scowled and tugged angrily at his too-short sleeves. "I wouldn't have done. What do I want with your stupid mouth organ?"_

"_Just because no one loves you enough to send you a mouth organ—"_

"_You think you're so bloody special because you've got some old auntie who's dropped by about twice in the past five years and sends a little piece of junk each Christmas—" _

"_Shush this nonsense!" the graying matron cried, coming in between the two children. "Tom, did you or did you not take her mouth organ?"_

"_I know he did, Mrs. Cole! Just like he took Dennis' yo-yo. He's a naughty thief!"_

"_I didn't take her stupid mouth organ," Tom defended. "I've not stolen anything from Amy or Dennis or anyone else."_

_Mrs. Cole frowned and turned to Amy. "It's quite possible that you've simply misplaced it. Did you or anyone else actually see him take it?"_

"_No." She pouted. "But I know he did. He's a naughty thief. A taker!"_

x.x.x

"Bloody hot," Sirius said. "Fancy a go through the hose?"

James grinned.

x.x.x

The mid-June sun glistened off his wet shoulders as James collapsed onto the grass in a pile of laughter. He fumbled around for a moment, grabbing at patches of grass surrounding him, before realizing that his spectacles were nowhere to be found.

"They were here!" he cried. "My glasses. I know I left them right here out of the way."

James heard his friend's mischievous laughter and, turning his head, was able to distinguish a Sirius-shaped, beige-ish blur somewhere in the general direction of left.

"What have you done with them, Black?"

The shape appeared to be dangling something.

"I know you've taken them," James said, rolling his myopic eyes. "I'm not completely blind." He squinted and stood up, took three uneasy steps in the general direction of left, tripped over something that felt suspiciously lawn-gnomish, and fell, face down, in the grass.

His friend burst into mad laughter, and James rolled over onto his back.

"Oh, fuck off," he mumbled.

"Here," Sirius called, and James felt the glasses land on his bare stomach. "Just for that, you get them back."

He snatched them up and donned them quickly, blinking as the world came into focus.

Sirius was on his side in the grass, propped up on one elbow and grinning like one of those goddamned cat things. "Bloody useless without those, aren't you, Potter?"

"You, sir, may kindly get stuffed," he replied, but he couldn't manage to completely stifle his smile. "Not my fault I'm a bat, anyhow. You've seen my dad, yeah? Shit like that runs in families."

Sirius frowned slightly but didn't respond, and it took James a moment to figure out the sudden shift in his friend's mood.

"_My father's a faggot."_

He ran a hand through his already mussed-up hair. "Shit," he murmured under his breath.

_Have a knack for saying just the right thing, don't you, Potter? Bloody sensitive bastard, you are. "I got nearsightedness from my dad. Wonder what you could have got from yours?"_

Biting his lip, James suddenly became acutely aware of his naked chest and he felt cheeks redden. If Sirius was—like _that_—should he have left on his shirt? Was it now somehow inappropriate for him to be shirtless around Sirius?

_Don't be a dipshit, Potter. He's been your best mate since _forever_. You can take your bloody shirt off around him—he never gave a damn before and he doesn't give a damn now. You were running through the hose, you complete arse._

"Hey, mate," James said.

Sirius inclined his head. "Hmm?"

"I just mean—" He stopped. "It's just—I mean—you know—"

"Yeah?" Sirius said, his mouth creeping into a tiny smile. "Spit it out, Prongs."

"Just—it's true, is all," he murmured. "You know, shit running in families and that."

Sirius quirked a brow sharply. The smile was gone. "Is it?"

"I'm just saying." James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I can't—I can't help taking after him, can I? Can't help not being able to see. Things like that—it's nothing—you know—_wrong_."

"What's nothing wrong?" his friend asked coolly. "Your inability to see without a pair of spectacles?"

James snorted and rolled onto his side, mirroring Sirius, so that their faces were barely a hand's width apart. "Are you going to make me bloody say it?" His voice was quiet, low.

Silence. Sirius chewed his bottom lip as if deliberating. Finally, he spoke. "Am I going to make you bloody say what?"

James sighed and resumed his earlier position. Flat on his back, he stared at the brilliant blue sky and tried to breathe—in, out, in, out. Tried to ease the tension bubbling inside his ribcage.

No luck. It was all too fucking _much_.

He couldn't stop it, couldn't hold it in.

He laughed.

"What's so funny?" Sirius demanded.

And James just laughed. He clutched at his stomach and rolled over in hysterics. "You!" he gasped. "You are! You're fucking _bent!_"

Sirius' gray eyes widened fleetingly, but, apparently regaining composure, he began to shake his head. "You've gone _mental,_ Potter.Nutters. Absolutely lost it."

He just tilted his head back and laughed some more. Because Sirius was completely bloody right. "Queer! Gay! Ho-mo-_sexual!_"

"Mental," his friend repeated, still shaking his head. "You've snapped, Potter. Gone well round the bend. I'll still visit you, of course. When they take you to the asylum."

"Pansy! Nancy boy!"

James laughed and writhed and banged his fists on the ground and gasped for air, and after a few more half-hearted murmurs of, "Nutters, totally insane," Sirius crumbled and followed suit.

"You're a darling, Jamie, a real gem, an absolute _love_," Sirius said in an effeminate voice, flicking his wrist flamboyantly and shaking his head as he reigned in his laughter.

James took a breath and looked up, about to respond with a witty rejoinder like "And you're gay!", when he realized that Sirius' face was making a quick and steady path toward his own. He suddenly felt something wet and warm on his lips. He tried to move, but Sirius grabbed the back of his head roughly, holding him in place, before letting go and pulling away with a loud _smack._

"Aw, fuck all!" James cried, wiping his mouth and shaking with fresh laughter. "You utter freak!"

Sirius winked and grinned. "How's that for bent, eh?"

James rolled his eyes. "Bloody pansy," he complained good-naturedly. "You're lucky I don't press charges on account of assault."

Sirius just smiled and James shook his head to himself. His first ever kiss on the lips and it _would _have to be from his queer mate with a twisted sense of humor.

x.x.x

_It was in an upscale hotel at a massive doctors' convention when Tom spotted the man across the room. Black hair, gray eyes, straight nose, strong jaw. A thin band around the ring finger of his left hand._

_Sauntering toward the bar, he casually bumped into the other man._

"_Oh, excuse me," Tom said._

"_No, no, my fault," the man responded. "You took me by surprise, is all."_

_Tom smiled and was pleased to note a flush staining the other man's cheeks._

"_Tom," he said, holding out his hand. "Tom Riddle."_

"_Orion Black."_

_The handshake lingered only slightly longer than standard etiquette mandated._

x.x.x

_Two drinks and a bit of small talk later, Tom and his newest acquaintance were getting on quite well._

"_So, what do you do?" Orion asked. "I mean—medicine, obviously, but what do you specialize in?"_

"_Hematology," he replied._

_Orion grinned. "A vamp, eh? Wouldn't have guessed."_

"_Hmm. And you?"_

_The man ran a hand through_ _his hair shyly. "Pediatrics, actually."_

_Tom nodded and flashed a charming smile as if Orion had said something rather more interesting._

x.x.x

Severus tangled his hands in Lily's hair and hummed into her mouth as she pushed him gently onto his back.

She pulled away, and Severus dug his elbows in the soft comforter to prop himself up. Lily's green eyes glimmered with mischief and she smiled with raw and bright red lips. "It's their anniversary, you know," she said. "They won't be back until early morning. And Pet went out with some friends."

She pushed Severus back down and straddled him. Her small, warm hands crept under his shirt, up his chest, and Severus felt the blood rush from his face and pool somewhere below his stomach. He leaned up and bit her neck, gently, and relished the feel of her squirming body on top of his.

They had experimented before, of course, with mouths and hands and the like. But this—this was different. The air in the small cavity between their chests, their stomachs, was excited, electric. Each touch was a shock.

Severus had no fucking clue what he was doing, but he was thrilled to be doing it.

With his thumbs, he rubbed circles into the skin of her soft stomach, prying her shirt off as gently as he could. It got caught around her shoulders and she grinned and silently shrugged it off. He helped her with his own shirt, and when that had been shed, he put his hands on her back and pulled her fully on top of him. He kissed her neck and her shoulders, unable to keep a stupid smile off his face while he fumbled to unclasp her bra. As he helped her slip out of the undergarment, she ground her hips into his.

"Jesus," he murmured, and quickly undid his belt. She grinned devilishly, her face flushed, as she quickly stood up on the bed and pulled her skirt off, tossing it carelessly to the floor. As she leaned over him and unbuttoned his blue jeans, Severus caressed her pert breasts greedily. She was unzipping his jeans now, lightly brushing his throbbing cock through the fabric of his boxers, and he writhed and bucked, attempting to shed his trousers while his hands roamed daringly beneath the elastic waistband of her polka-dotted panties.

She tilted her head back and shook as if laughing, but made no sound. She pulled his blue jeans down to his knees forcefully and began to run her hand up his thigh, under his boxers, so close—he twisted and clutched her shoulder in anticipation—and she stopped.

"Lily?" he murmured, sitting up.

Her eyes were cold. She crossed her arms in front of her bare chest defensively.

"Lily?"

"What is that?" she said, looking at the comforter.

Severus followed her gaze and felt his insides writhe and buck in nothing akin to ecstasy. A pack of cigarettes had fallen out of his pocket and onto the bed.

"What is that?" she repeated.

"You know what it is," he murmured.

"You told me you quit."

He groaned. "Jesus, Lily—I tried, okay? It's not something I've got the capacity to flip on and off like a light switch. People don't just up and _quit._"

"Whatever," she said. "How long have you been lying to me and—and smoking and—and God _knows_ what else behind my back?"

She stood up from the bed and hurriedly put on her bra, her skirt, her shirt. Severus chewed the inside of his lips as he pulled up his jeans, fastened them, buckled his belt. He felt his shirt land on his stomach and he pulled it over his head as he protested.

"Look, it's not like—"

"I'm not an idiot, Severus," she cut him off. "You should know. We get the same marks."

"If you'd just listen—"

"No," she said firmly. "I'm sick of this bullshit. They keep coming up with more and more research on how smoking's bad, how it—but you won't _listen_, no, you just—no. I don't care. If you want to screw your health, go ahead." She picked up the cigarette carton and held it out in front of him. "Go on," she dared. "Have one. I'm sure you've a lighter on you somewhere."

He scowled and grabbed her by the wrist, making her drop the cigarettes. "You know it isn't like that," he said, pulling her toward him roughly. "I'd do anything for you. I would."

"You shouldn't have quit smoking for _me_, you should have quit because it's bad for you and you're better than that! You're better than—I thought you weren't—and not just smoking—those boys you hang around, what they—what _you_—I don't even—I don't know—" She stopped and gulped. "Severus, let go of me."

"No!" he exclaimed, shaking his head and tightening his grip. "No, you've got to understand. It's a bit of a rough crowd, yeah, but you know I'm—"

"Severus, you're hurting me!" Lily yanked her arm from his clutch and began to rub her forearm.

Severus looked down. Her wrist was covered in angry, crimson marks—four fingers and a thumb. His hand. Some of the red had already faded to reveal sick shades of purple and blue.

His throat burned and his stomach flip-flopped and Severus thought he might throw up.

"I'm—Lily, your—I'm—I would never—I didn't mean to hurt—"

"I think you should go now," she said. "Please."

Severus groaned and ran a hand through his hair. He turned, his entire body tense and his fists clenched, and punched the wall with all the force he could muster.

Lily gasped and took a step backward.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said. "_Fuck._"

"My mum'll be rather angry about that," she said quietly, glancing at the sizeable dent he had made in her wall.

"Really? She'll be rather _angry,_ will she?" he sneered, and somewhere in his rational mind he knew he shouldn't be acting like such a bastard. But everything was _fucked _and he could feel it like a punch in the gut. A limb had been ripped off and now he was bleeding—gushing—crimson rage. "What'll she do, put you in time out?"

"Just—just go!" she cried, green eyes big and burning red with unshed tears. Her entire appearance was disheveled, haphazard. Fucked. "Please just go now."

So he went.

And it wasn't until in he'd reached the doorstep of his house, fumbling around in his pockets for a smoke, that he realized he had left the cigarettes.

x.x.x

"Oy, mate!" Remus heard. He looked up from his book to see James Potter jogging toward him with his hand raised in something of a wave.

"Hey James," he greeted as the black-haired boy took a seat next to him under the willow.

"Did you see _that_?" James asked, hazel eyes big and burning behind his glasses.

Remus shrugged. "I—I guess not. Judging from—from your tone, if I h-had seen _that_ I would remember seeing _that _or at least—at least be aware of what _that _is referring to." He smiled.

His friend snorted. "_That, _my dear Moony, is referring to the spectacle I witnessed not half an hour ago of one Severus Snape leaving the house of one Lily Evans ina _right _huff, if I do so say so myself."

"Good God," Remus murmured to himself, shaking his head. "You—you've been spying on Lily?"

"No!" James exclaimed, although his cheeks reddened. "I merely happened to be innocently looking out the downstairs window that's got the best view of the Evans' place when I saw Snape leave all huffy like. The girl lives right next door, for Christ's sake," he continued in his defense. "I can't help noticing some of what goes on."

"It's okay, James. I'm n-not going to tell her." Remus grinned.

His friend was visibly relieved. "Anyway, mate, I wanted to ask—you got any idea what that was all about?"

Remus snorted. "Since when did you become a—a _gossipmonger?_" he asked incredulously.

"Oh, damn, I forgot to mention—I'm actually an elderly woman." James put on a worried pout. "We can still be friends, right?"

"Berk," Remus said with a grin. "And I haven't got a clue as to what—what c-could have possibly been going on over there."

"But they talk to you!" the other boy exclaimed. "How can you not know?"

He shrugged. "I haven't spoken with either of them in at—at least a few days."

"You think I should go over there?" James asked.

"_What?_"

"To the Evans'! I could go try and talk to Lily. See what's the matter."

Remus grimaced. "You've—you've got some nerve, James, I'll give you that. But assuming they've j-just had a row or something, d-don't you think she'd prefer to be—to be left alone f-for a while?"

"Hmm." James looked into the distance somewhere and frowned pensively. "Yeah, I think I'll head over there now. Talk to you later, mate," he murmured, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Thanks!" he called as he ran off.

The sky was slowly bleeding an array of reds and oranges, and Remus no longer had enough light to read by. Picking up his book and heading inside, he shook his head to himself. If James Potter died at the young age of sixteen, the headstrong boy would have no one to blame but himself.

x.x.x

James knocked. And knocked. And knocked.

And the door swung open violently.

"Go away, Severus!" Lily looked him up and down and blinked. "Oh—Potter. It's you."

Her face was blotchy and her eyes were bloodshot and she looked—well, fucked.

James smiled gently. "Not going to tell _me_ to go away?"

"I've been telling _you_ to go away for ten years." She snorted and then rubbed her nose. "Hasn't yet worked, obviously. What do you want?"

"I just—" He paused. He'd wanted to try and puzzle together a bit of what had happened, yeah, but more than that—more than that—"I just wanted to see if you were all right."

She raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I—ah—I saw Snape leaving your house earlier," he admitted. "I know it sounds stupid, but he looked rather angry and I thought I'd just—just drop by and see—if you were okay."

Lily frowned. "I'd accuse you of ulterior motives," she said, "but that's really more the type of thing I'd expect from Severus." Then her lips curved upwards into a smile that was pained and just barely there, but it was enough to turn James' heart to a hummingbird in his chest.

"Well?" he said.

"I—" She bit her lip and looked away, and he wondered what she could be thinking. "Actually, would you like to come in?" she finally asked. "If you're not busy, I mean. We could—we could watch television or something. I—I don't—don't seem to have anything else to do."

An invitation to get lost, he had been expecting. And invitation to come in, he had most definitely not. "I—I—yeah," James murmured in awe, eyes wide with surprise as he crossed the threshold into the Evans' home. "Yeah. Absolutely."

x.x.x

When Orion had been living with Tom, he'd worked odd jobs, mostly, if he had worked at all. As a pediatrician, he had always been quickly let go when his personal life came to light. No one trusted a faggot around children.

Tom, on the other hand, had maintained a respectable job—salary, insurance, vacation time, the lot—at a blood bank. Because his particular vocation didn't involve children—or even other adults, for the most part—his bosses either made concessions because of the good quality of his work or simply didn't care to delve too far into his private life.

At any rate, Tom had long ago recognized the two advantages of his job—a fair share of privacy, and access to a vast amount of blood.

x.x.x

"She's so—_Christ_, she just refuses to _listen_. I haven't talked to her since—since we fought."

Remus nodded. "I don't—don't want to pry, b-but—what c-could you and Lily have rowed about that got you both so—so worked up?"

Severus frowned. "Have you spoken with her?"

"No," he said. "Not since. All I know is—is that James t-told me after he—"

"_Potter_?"

Remus grimaced. "Err—yeah. He—ah—he p-paid her a visit, apparently. The other night."

"What—when—she didn't tell _James Potter_—"

"No!" he interrupted. "No—James said she d-didn't t-tell him anything about—_that_. They—they just—I don't know—watched the t-telly or—or something."

Severus' jaw dropped in an uncharacteristically comical gesture. "She let _James Potter _into her home? They _watched the telly?_"

"Err—I shouldn't have—have t-told you that," Remus said, chewing his bottom lip nervously. "Really, it—it wasn't anything important—y-you shouldn't be—"

But Severus was already gone.

x.x.x

Severus knocked. And knocked. And knocked.

And the door swung open violently.

"Lily," he whispered harshly.

She looked up, scrunching her freckled nose in distaste as her gaze settled on his face. "What do you want?"

Severus snarled. "You invited _James Potter _into your home? James Potter?"

"That's not really your business, is it?" she said with a frown.

"It bloody well is," he pressed. "I leave for three minutes and the bastard pounces."

"_You _left."

"_You_ told me to go. And then James Potter—the goddamned—and I had to hear it from Remus—and—Lily, we have a _history_!"

She shrugged. "So do James and I."

_James._ Severus wanted to curl up and die right there on her doorstep. He just scowled. "A history of him stalking you? Perhaps. Not quite the sort of history I had in mind."

"You know," she said, "I initially preferred you because he was an obnoxious brat and you so _clearly _surpassed him in the maturity department. But I'm not sure if that's the case any longer."

"_James. Potter," _he repeated through his bared teeth.

Lily rolled her eyes. "It's not as if I'd ever consider—never mind," she finished, cutting her sentence short. "Just—no. It's too late for jealousy, Severus. I told you to go. You left. And that's the end of it."

The end of it.

He frowned. "But I didn't—I didn't think you meant _forever._"

That was a lie. He had felt it, the unspoken _forever_. Like a punch in the gut. A limb had been ripped off and now all he had was the phantom pain.

She looked up at him with those perfect green eyes, all big and serious. Severus turned to leave.

"Wait!"

He quickly spun back around, a pathetic bubble of hope inflating in his chest. "Yeah?"

Lily reached into the back pocket of her jeans and fished out a pack of cigarettes. "You left _these_."

Severus snatched the carton from her roughly. "Fuck you," he spat.

He turned and heard the door slam behind him.

x.x.x

"_Damn it," Tom murmured, shaking his head. The toe of his good boot had been stained dark crimson with blood. Ah—well. Sacrifices had to be made._

_He took his briefcase from under the couch and opened it. Inside was a compartment where he had been keeping a syringe and a particularly fascinating blood sample._

"_You can leave, love, but I will follow," Tom whispered to Orion, who lay in a heap on the floor. He rolled up the unconscious man's sleeve. "I'm terribly curious about this sample, you know," he continued. "Hmm. Sacrifices do have to be made, don't they?"_

x.x.x

"Hey, Mum," James said.

His mother flipped off the television and turned to face him. "Hmm?"

"Would you run me by the grocery?" he asked. "It's Remus' birthday soon. I just wanted to pick up some chocolate or something."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, honey, I really don't—" She stopped and coughed. "I really don't feel up to a trip."

James frowned to himself. His mum was always coming down with one thing or another, but she rarely let that keep her at home.

"Your dad can take you when he gets home," she continued apologetically. "I think I'm going to have a nap—if you don't need me for anything else? I've been awfully tired lately."

"Yeah," James said, nodding. "Sure thing, Mum. Get some rest."

x.x.x

The instrument was ancient and rusted, its notes off-key and jarring. But sometimes, when he was bored, Tom liked to pull it out and play a little tune. The clumsy music always took him back to the years that were supposed to have been better.

x.x.x

**a/n:** Much love.


	17. Death of a Werewolf

**a/n: ** I CAN'T POSSIBLY APOLOGIZE ENOUGH. So I won't. :). I will only hope desperately that all of my readers have not forgotten me or died in the meantime.

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Seventeen: Death of a Werewolf

x.x.x

"He's so _stubborn!_" Lily exclaimed. "No matter how many times I tell him—and now he's in some sort of jealous snit because he thinks—" She laughed harshly. "_James Potter. _He's jealous of _James Potter._"

Remus said nothing.

Lily fiddled with the long sleeves of her shirt. "I just—he thinks I don't care, but—I _do_ care. If I didn't care, I'd have just stopped bothering with—I mean, you're the only real friend we've got in common. And I don't like—it's not just smoking. I've seen those boys—roughing people up—and—_needles_, Remus, and Severus—he's _one _of them."

"You know he—he just isn't used t-to being—accepted," he said quietly. "It's nice. To be accepted, I mean."

"I accepted him." She frowned. "I accepted him _first_. I did more than just accept him, I—I—" She paused to take a breath. "It's—there's something else," she whispered, though there was no one else within hearing range.

"Hmm?" he encouraged gently.

Lily rolled up her shirtsleeve to reveal a black and purple wrist.

Remus felt his stomach somersault. "Did—did he—"

She nodded.

"But—James—James n-never said—"

"He didn't see," she explained quickly. "I—umm—I put on a sweater before he had a chance. I couldn't risk—I mean, God only knows what he'd—but—_Severus. _I shouldn't be—he wouldn't ever—but—I'm frightened."

The "of him" remained unspoken, but Remus heard it very clearly.

"It's—it's only n-natural to be—to be frightened," he said. "He—hurt you."

Lily frowned and tugged her sleeve back over her forearm self-consciously. "He didn't mean it. I know he didn't, I know he'd never actually—it was just—clumsy." She paused. "And his family, they're horrible, but he can't blame them for everything—you know? Because I know he does. Blame them, I mean. Not that they aren't at fault. But—still."

He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully but said nothing.

"I mean, that's not how it works," she continued. "People have got _choices_."

Remus felt a pang in his chest, straight through his heart, cold and metallic like a silver bullet.

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think?

"Oh, I—I imagine they—they m-must have. Choices."

"Exactly. It's better that way."

He felt his lips tremble as he pulled them into a smile. "I'll—I'll t-take your word for it."

Silence.

"Lily?"

"Yeah?"

Remus frowned. "Have you—h-have you tried telling all this to Severus?"

She shook her head. "No," she murmured. "I can't really be around him anymore. And anyway, he just _refuses _to listen."

x.x.x

Lily was no longer irritated when she answered the door to James Potter. She was no longer surprised and—surprising_ly_—she no longer felt even the most fleeting violent urges.

"Hey, James," she said. "Do you want to come in?"

"I—of course," he said. She liked how his hazel eyes were always big and open behind his spectacles. "Are you sure I'm not imposing, though? Only, I mean—I've been here just about every day this week."

Lily smiled as genuinely as she could. Was he always so stupid and sweet? No wonder people liked him so much. His clumsy words were just begging for a retort, something witty and acerbic, but, weirdly, her mind had gone blank and vaguely soft, like a cloud, and she felt completely incapable of sharp comments or cleverness. "No," is all she said. "You're not imposing. I promise."

x.x.x

Being the only child of moderately well-to-do parents, James Potter was admittedly used to getting what he wanted—the biggest loudest train set, the shiniest reddest new bicycle. It had, for a while, seemed only natural that the loveliest most perfect girl next door should follow.

Of course, she hadn't. The loveliest most perfect girl next door had spurned him and scorned him and begged him to please, please, please, for the love of God just _leave her alone._

Of course, he hadn't. And James found himself amazed, during those rare times when Lily Evans was in his vicinity and he still retained the ability to form coherent thoughts, by how—after years of unrequited and probably very unhealthy adoration—really, exactly what he wanted had fallen, gently, directly into his upturned palm.

Well, not _exactly_. What he had wanted was the loveliest most perfect girl next door. What he had got was a pretty, intelligent young woman with eyes like jade and shadows at each corner of her smile. But, in all fairness, James loved her _so much more_ than the biggest loudest train set or the shiniest reddest new bicycle or the loveliest most perfect girl next door.

x.x.x

Mark Campbell Brown, Jr. was born July 23, 1976, weighing in at a healthy seven pounds and eight ounces.

"Named after Daddy," Mary had said over the phone.

Peter never thought to ask whose.

x.x.x

James sprinted to grab the angry telephone. "Hello?"

"Wotcher, James."

"Peter?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Well, what's the news? You sound awfully excited. Something of the stringed variety? Because you know my quota's two concerts a year. My tenuous masculinity can't handle anything more."

Laughter. "Oh, you know you love it. Anyways, this is better—something of the infant variety. It's a boy!"

"But—no—I'm too young to be a father! You've got to understand, Peter, it was a one-time thing. You're going to have to put him up for adoption."

"Hah. Hah. You _kill _me, James Potter. I'm dying."

"But just a little death."

Laughter. "Good God, I think Sirius and Remus are rubbing off on—oh, no—I only—I just meant—"

"Wait, did you know about—?"

"I didn't mean—wait—are you talking about—did you—?"

"Yeah. I mean—Sirius. He told me. Well—I threw various accusations at him until he became too worn down to continue resisting with various denials."

"Yeah. Yeah." Another short laugh. "I—umm—I sort of just figured. Anyway, I'll assume we're talking about the same thing and leave it there. And whenever you see them, be sure to pass it on that I'm finally a mummy, will you? I expect some sort of congratulatory party. Confetti, hats, you know."

James grinned to himself. "What else are friends good for? I'm guessing you just called to spread the news?"

"Yeah—I mean, besides the unbearable longing to hear your voice."

"Well, naturally. That one goes without saying."

"See you later, mate."

"Sure. Drop by anytime. But don't bring the kid, okay? I can't risk getting attached."

_Click_.

x.x.x

She had pulled her black hair into a sleek French braid—his favorite. It was out within the first fifteen minutes, of course. But no hairdo, however short-lived, was too time-consuming for her favorite client.

She'd had dozens of clients, by now—some young, some old, some regular, some one-off, most rather strange. A tall bloke who liked to be pinched. A twenty-something with piercings in unthinkable places. A middle-aged man with mysterious bruises and a weirdly familiar face. A woman.

Dozens of clients, but only one worth the time and hassle of a French braid. Only one Patrick Potter. The man was a good twenty years older, at least, but he was plenty fit, his hair only somewhat flecked with gray, and something in those wide, bespectacled eyes turned her bones to glue. No one else smiled kindly at her like he did. No one else bought her presents like he did. No one else called her beautiful and meant it the way he did.

Sometimes, she imagined dazzling futures for the two them. They would drop everything and elope and live together _foreverandever_ in a cozy cottage where they would garden and keep house and have meals together like a real family, and when they made love it would be simply because they both wanted to, without any awkward dynamic of money changing hands.

She knew better, of course. Always he came in wearing a wedding band, and always he left wearing grimace.

Tonight, Patrick sat beside her, combing his fingers through her unbraided hair. "This is it," the man said quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm not coming back."

She blinked. "But—Patrick—"

"I'm sorry," he said. "My wife"—_oh, God—_"is very sick. She needs me. She needs—a faithful husband."

There was no arguing. "Well," she said. "I'm very sorry."

"No," he said. "No, _I'm_ sorry." When he'd pulled his trousers back on, he took a wad of cash and a pile of miscellaneous papers from his pocket, and laid the whole mess on top of the bed. She flipped through the papers, all of which consisted of what appeared to be advertisements for educational opportunities and various newspaper clippings from the classifieds offering no-experience-necessary secretarial positions. "You're a lovely girl, Bella. You deserve better than this."

There was no arguing.

x.x.x

Knock, knock, knock. "Remus! Remus, honey, are you awake?"

Wide-eyed, Remus opened the bedroom door to his glowing mother. Her hair was freshly washed, still damp, and she smelled like spring. Her floral-print dress had clearly been ironed and her eyes smiled brilliantly.

Catie Lupin had her asleep days and her awake days, but Remus could count on one hand the number of her—what _were _they?—_alive _days.

"Mum?" he whispered. "Are you—are you feeling all right?"

She grinned and pulled him into a spontaneous hug. "I'm feeling just lovely. So refreshed and energetic. But, dear—have you _been_ downstairs lately?"

He nodded dumbly.

"It's a mess!" his mother exclaimed, not at all despairingly. "I don't know _how_ it got into such an awful state. I suppose your father never was one for housework."

He grunted.

"But _you_ won't mind tidying up with me this morning, will you? We could talk while we worked and get it done twice as quickly."

Remus grinned and nodded hurriedly, not quite trusting himself to speak.

"Such a sweet boy," his mum murmured. She gave him a little wink. "You always did take after me."

x.x.x

Knock, knock, knock. "Hey, Mum?"

Nothing.

James cracked the door ajar. "Mum?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"

"Yes, dear," she replied.

He crept to the bedside, where he could see her lips tremble and her eyelids struggle to hold themselves up. "It's noon," he said softly. "D'you want me to bring you some lunch?"

"Such a sweet boy," his mum murmured. "But there's no need. My appetite's all but disappeared, it seems."

x.x.x

He had never so thoroughly enjoyed dusting bookshelves and washing windows and mopping floors. With his mother humming some of the quieter Beatles tunes and his father studying the Bible in his armchair, springing up at random intervals to give his wife a tackle and a sloppy kiss ("See how bad this place has gotten?" he would murmur; "See how bad I need you, Catie?"), Remus never would have heard some small object fall to the floor, would never have felt the loss of a few ounces of physical encumbrance.

x.x.x

"Dad?" James looked across the dinner table.

His father groaned quietly and ran a hand through his graying hair. "Hmm?"

"What's wrong with her?"

"Suppressed immune system, James. You know that."

"No. I mean—_right now_."

James' father studied him for a moment, looked him in the eye through two layers of glass. "Right now?"

James nodded.

"Well. Well, yes, you're old enough to be told these things, aren't you?" He sighed. "We've consulted a number doctors, of course. And—right now—no one has a clue."

x.x.x

"_Remus John Lupin!_ Get the _fuck _in here!"

Remus rolled out of bed and flipped on the light. He checked the little clock on his desk—quarter past one. He pulled on his blue jeans and trudged down the stairs, chewing his lip and fumbling inside his pockets for the comforting, cool beads of his mother's rosary.

But his pockets were empty. His prayers were in vain and he was grasping at air, already nose-to-nose with his father.

"On my way to the toilet in the middle of the night and what do I step on but—but—do you know what this is?" the man snarled, shaking his fist, clenched around some small, stranded object. "Do you know what this _fucking is?_"

"A—a rosary," Remus murmured, feeling his stomach go all pear-shaped. His breaths were short and shallow and his father was so close.

"Damn _right _you are. And have you ever known anyone in this house to pray with one of these—fucking _things_?"

He shook his head.

"You know why? You know why, faggot? Because _rosaries _are for _children of the devil._ You want to pray with that? Your prayers are going straight to _Satan_. The Catholic Church, for Christ's sake! That godforsaken bunch of bloody Judases—care about money, not people—they'll let a good man suffer for an extra pound, you listen here, _boy_, the Pope's as good as the devil to me—and this, this _thing—_what does the fucking _Bible _say about _rosaries_, huh? Can you tell me that?"

He couldn't.

"It says _shit all,_ that's what. You goddamned _stupid_ child! I don't know _where _you got this awful thing from, but to bring it into my_ home_—"

Ohgodfuck_ow_.

"—after all I've done for you, all I've _sacrificed _to _raise you right!_ And you've learned _nothing. Nothing!_"

Nothingnothingnothing.

"Get out," his father said. Warned. "Get _out _of my _house _and take this _god-awful_ thing with you." He dropped the rosary as if it had burned his hand and hurried into bathroom.

His father out of sight, Remus knelt down and snatched it from the floor. He made to put in back in his pocket, but—he halted. Very suddenly, impulsively, he looped the rosary around his neck.

He'd had a vision, as his father had held the prayer beads in his calloused hand. Just a brief, terrible image in his mind's eye—the sight of a snapped cord, of five-dozen wooden beads bouncing about, scattering across the hardwood floor. But—no—something awesome had interfered, and Remus now felt the weight of it on his chest.

He opened the door and stepped outside. The night was dark, but he knew he could to face it.

x.x.x

_Plink, plink, plink._

Sirius was roused from his slumber by the ghost of a familiar sound.

_Plink, plink, plink,_

But it wasn't—? It couldn't be—

_Plink, plink, plink._

Sirius crept out of bed and pulled back his curtains. There didn't appear to be anything outside—

_Plink._

A pebble hit his window.

Sirius gasped in surprise and he cast his eyes downward to see Remus standing in the Black's backyard. Either the shadows were playing with his face or he wore an almost hysterical grin.

Sirius quickly opened the window. "Remus?" he called softly. "Moony? You all right?"

"Yeah," Remus called back. "Yeah, I—I'm all right. Just thought maybe—"

But the rest of his quiet words were lost in the interspace.

"Stay there!" Sirius ordered. "I'll be right down."

And without bothering to shut the window, he rushed downstairs wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts.

"Remus?" he called again after he had slipped outside.

Sirius found him sitting in a huddle on the grass in the same spot under the window.

"Remus!" he exclaimed as he approached the other boy. "You all right, mate?"

"Yeah," Remus said, looking up at Sirius through his fringe. "I'm—I'm quite good, actually."

Even in the dim light of the streetlamp a few yards off, Sirius could make out a fresh black eye, a bloody nose, a swollen lip.

"You're a damned liar, is what you are," he muttered, helping Remus to his feet. "Look at your face."

"I know—but r-really, it doesn't hurt now—I'm—"

"Shh." Sirius led him inside, making sure to close and lock the door behind them. "Come upstairs and I'll get you cleaned up. But first—wait." He stopped in the kitchen and scooped some ice from the freezer into a baggie. "Here. Put that on your eye."

"You r-really don't—"

"Shh. Don't want to wake my mum or Reg."

The two crept upstairs to Sirius' bedroom.

"Sit," Sirius said, nodding toward the double bed in the center of the room. Remus obeyed

"This is—rather familiar," Remus murmured, holding the ice over his swollen eye. "Only I remember—b-bunk beds."

Sirius snorted and tiptoed across the hall to the bathroom, where he surveyed the medicine cabinet. Hydrogen peroxide, cotton swabs, bandages—Sirius grabbed those quickly. He started to leave, but something else caught his eyes. Vaseline? He'd read things, unspeakable things in dusty books and dark corners—but really—should he—? All right. Okay. But he probably wouldn't try it. Only just in case.

Back in his bedroom, Sirius shut the door and dropped the supplies onto the bed. "Come here," he murmured, wetting a cotton swab with hydrogen peroxide and grabbing Remus' chin.

"Ow—Padfoot, I'm fine, you don't—"

"Shut up. Your cheek is all scratched up. And you ought to put the ice on your lip for a bit."

Remus complied.

"Remember," Sirius said, capping the peroxide and shoving everything on the floor under the bed, "remember when I promised not to tell anyone? You said you were clumsy, remember?"

The other boy's golden eyes were huge with some emotion and he nodded gently.

"I was a fucking idiot."

"You were six years old."

"So were you. I was a fucking idiot."

"I'm—I'm glad you didn't, anyway," Remus murmured. "Tell. I—I'm glad I'm here."

Sirius leaned back against the headboard and inspected Remus' face. "You reckon I fixed you up all right, Moony?"

"Yeah," Remus said. He leaned over and gave Sirius a shy kiss on the lips. "I—I reckon you fixed me up all right."

x.x.x

Dark.

"Moony?"

"Hmm?"

"What's this? Around your neck?"

"Oh—umm—a rosary."

"Didn't know you were religious."

"I'm not. I mean—I—I don't know."

"Well, you believe in God, then?"

"I—no—maybe. Didn't used to."

"Why not?"

" . . . "

"Moony?"

"Just. Too depressing."

"You're a strange—oh, _God_, Remus. Made me forget what—_fuck_—"

x.x.x

Still dark.

"All right, Moony?"

"Mmhmm."

"You're sure? I don't want to try—I mean, if you don't want—"

"I'm _fine_, Sirius. Really, I—I need—please. Let's go ahead. I'm fine."

"If you say—"

"_Oh_—"

"_Christ_."

x.x.x

Light.

"Sirius?"

"Mmm. Wha's it?"

"You're awake?"

"What is it, Remus?"

"It's almost morning."

"Yeah."

"I think—I think it'll be a good morning."

"Go back to sleep, Moony. You ought to be exhausted."

x.x.x

**a/n: **Please remember that killing me for my cruel negligence, while it may feel good, will not bode well for the as-yet-unwritten end of the story. Also, I love you.

p.s. I realize the thing with James' mother suddenly falling terribly ill is a bit confusing. I don't want to explain all and spoil it for those who want to figure it out on their own or leave it a mystery, but there won't really be any more clues about it in the story (there's a reason for that, too, I swear) so if you desire clarification just review/pm me and I'll be happy to explain all—promise!


	18. Welcome Homes and Playing Hard to Get

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Eighteen: Welcome Homes and Playing Hard to Get

x.x.x

Sometimes, in the middle of his morning shave, Severus' mind would wander—his hand would slip—

Whoops. But he was all right.

Just a slip. Clumsy, really.

x.x.x

"Sirius," Walburga called, cracking the door ajar and poking her head into the room. "Sirius, are you awake?"

Her elder son made no coherent response.

"Sirius," she repeated. "It's nearly twelve o'clock. You'll have wasted your whole morning in bed if you don't get up now. Anyway, I have a few errands to run and since your brother's out I thought you might like to come along."

Silence.

She hurried across the room to her son's bed. "_Sirius,_" she said, grabbing the blankets and throwing them back, "it's time to—"

And there was Sirius.

And there was Remus.

The two teenagers were sleeping huddled together in the middle of the large mattress. Sirius groaned again and blindly grabbed for the covers. Remus shivered and his eyelids fluttered slowly open.

Oh dear _God_.

Walburga quickly scampered out of the room and shut the door behind her.

x.x.x

When she dared reenter Sirius' bedroom, he and Remus were both out of bed and fully dressed. Her son sat at the foot of the neatly made bed with an expression of grim determination, while his friend leaned against the bedpost with one hand hiding half a worried face and the other tightly holding her son's.

"I'm so sorry Mrs. Black!" he exclaimed when she approached. His immediately snatched his left hand away from Sirius and shoved it into his pocket, but his right hand remained partially covering his face and his terrified eyes were fixed on her own polished toes. "This was all my fault p-please don't be angry with Sirius it was all m-my fault and I'm so _so_ sorry p-please don't hate me."

"I—" Walburga took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. _Be reasonable now Wal screaming never solves anything you can't blame this poor boy this poor sweet boy stay calm reasonable rational no yelling not now and especially not at Remus._ She spoke very slowly. "I could never hate you, Remus. You are a good and—I believe—well-intentioned young man. But"—and here she turned her head toward her son—"I think I need to speak to Sirius—"

"I'm not saying sorry!" the boy in question interrupted defiantly. "I didn't do _anything_ wrong and neither did Remus!"

"_Sirius Black,_" she warned, "you will not speak to your mother in that tone of voice. I'm—I am going to run my errands now—alone—and when I return we _will_ discuss this. Remus, feel free to help yourself to some breakfast before you head home."

x.x.x

Remus did not help himself to any breakfast.

He walked home. He did not let Sirius accompany him. He did not let Sirius give him an everything-will-be-okay hug or a you-know-this-doesn't-change-anything kiss. Remus just said that he was sorry, so sorry to have caused such an awful mess and that it would probably be best if he were gone before Mrs. Black returned and he really was so sorry and he would talk to Sirius later. And that was when Sirius said, well, hey, wait, he'd at least walk him home, but Remus said no, not to worry about it, he figured he could manage the perilous journey across the street on his own.

And. He walked home. Alone.

And. When he reached the front door. It was already open. And. Standing in the doorway. Was his mother.

"Oh, _Remus_," she said, closing the door as he stepped inside and wrapping her thin arms around him. "I thought I'd lost you."

He shook his head, digging his face into her shoulder and breathing deeply.

"Is that—" His mum patted the back on his neck and her fingers clasped the strand of beads. "Yes," she murmured. "Well. I'm glad it's found a deserving home. I only wish I could say—" She stopped. "Well," she said again, softly. "Your father and I are a far cry from deserving, but I—I mean it when I say you're always welcome here."

x.x.x

Walburga drove to the grocery store, but couldn't be bothered to get out of the car. She just sat in the parking lot and cried.

The milk and flour would have to wait.

x.x.x

_You're afraid of a lot of things. You're afraid of spiders and broken glass and the possibility of hell. You're afraid of your father. You're afraid of yourself._

_You're afraid of a lot of things, but nothing terrifies you half as much as the rush of wind from your chest when Padfoot gives you a big goofy grin, as the slow melting of your bones and marrow when he pulls you into a hug, as the empty echoes that resound in your ribcage whenever he's away. You are so, so afraid of waking up from your lovely dream and being six years old and friendless and—_oh_—scared._

_And now that you've sunk your claws in, you're rather afraid that not even spiders or broken glass or the possibility of hell could compel you to let go. No. You couldn't ever let him go._

x.x.x

Sirius languished in the empty house. He turned the television on, off, on again, off again, checked the clock, checked once more, tapped his fingers, _one, two, one, two_. Tried to decide if he'd be lucky enough to spontaneously combust before his mother returned, or if he would ever be able to look her in the face again. Well, he would probably be able to look her in the face, anyway. He possessed an unnaturally high humiliation threshold.

The front door swung open and he cursed aloud.

"It's me. Where's Mum?"

Sirius sighed. He could hear the throb of his pulse inside his skull. "Running errands or some shit," he muttered. "Where've you been?"

His brother shrugged, falling onto the opposite end of the sofa. "Friend's place."

The vaguely evasive response prompted Sirius to turn his head and examine Regulus more closely. The younger boy's hair was disheveled, his clothing looked slept-in, and Sirius now noticed that he stank—of cigarette smoke, certainly, and—was that stale alcohol on his breath?

"You've been smoking?"

No denial.

"You've been drinking?"

No denial.

"Jesus Christ, Reg, you're fourteen years old. You're fucking crazy."

"As if you weren't doing the same—_worse_—when you were my age."

"I've never smoked and I've been drunk _once_ in my life," he snarled. "How about you, baby brother?"

Regulus bit his lip and looked down. "At least I'm not a freak who fucks boys. Or is it the other way around?"

Funny. No punches had been thrown, but Sirius still felt the wind knocked out of him. "How—I mean—where did you get that—who said _anything_—"

His brother laughed harshly. "Who _said _anything? I've got a pair of eyes, haven't I? I reckon everyone on the block knows about your sick little—whatever it is—with that Lupin boy, not counting Mum 'cause we both know she's a bit delusional where her darling children are—"

"Mum knows," he growled through gritted teeth.

"Mum? Mum knows?" Regulus laughed again, his blue eyes cruelly alight with surprise. "Fancy that. Since when?"

"About half an hour ago."

"Damn. Don't reckon you'd have just—so then she finally put two and two together? But then why would she have—or—_oh. _Damn. I'll bet she walked in on something, didn't she? Something so undeniably _queer_—"

"Would you shut the fuck _up_? Just—go brush your teeth and have a shower before she gets back, yeah? And be thankful she'll be too distracted dealing with my _misbehaviors_ to notice any of yours."

"Yeah—well—I'm not the bloody faggot," his brother muttered, but even so he hurried upstairs to obey.

x.x.x

Sometimes, after a tedious hour of washing the dishes or dusting the furniture or vacuuming the carpets, Walburga would find herself inexplicably drawn to her bedroom window. Sometimes she would stand there, looking out that window, until the sun began to set and she realized that she had wasted quite a bit of time.

That particular window provided the best view of the street below and the neat row of houses on the other side of it. A pair of stately, inviting brick homes, both of which sat perched atop neatly trimmed yards, filled the center of the block nicely—there lived the Potter and the Evans families. She had seen James Potter going back and forth between his house and his next-door neighbors' nearly every day for the past couple of weeks, which at the time had made her wonder if her son's best friend had found himself a girlfriend, which at the time had made her bite her lip and frown because they were already _so_ old (and still, still so young).

To the right of the Potters lurked their other next-door neighbors, the Snapes. A rather reclusive bunch the Snapes were, with their weedy yard and permanently shut blinds. Walburga had many times wondered what went on inside the only one-story house on the street, but she'd never spent too long speculating. All she really knew about that family was the fact that Sirius and their boy of the same age had somehow developed and intense mutual dislike, and anyone who didn't like her son wasn't worth a terrible amount of thought as far as she was concerned.

And to the left of the Evans family—the Lupins. Even when she looked out from the second-story window, their house was almost totally obscured from Walburga's view, along with all but the very fringes of the yard. Which was fine with her. The decrepit old place gave her the goosebumps. She had always hated to pass it and think of her son's sweet little friend Remus.

Remus—Walburga had always had a soft spot for him. Her maternal instincts had kicked in the moment she'd seen that sad, skinny boy, that boy the same age as her own son but with eyes that were already decades older. And since then she had been shoveling food down his throat and watching discreetly as his legs lengthened and his shoulders broadened and his smile—just maybe—widened. And never once had she met either of his parents. But she had seen the perpetually long sleeves and heard the stammer and, despite deep misgivings about entangling herself in governmental affairs (she had her own private matters that needed to be kept such, after all), Wal had made more than one anonymous call to social services in the past ten years.

Still, whenever she saw those big amber eyes her stomach lurched and she chastised herself for never having been able to pluck up the courage to do something _more_. And when she occasionally crossed the line beyond brutal honesty to herself and simple masochism, Walburga would play with the idea that some small, selfish part of her hadn't ever actually wanted Remus to be taken out of his parents' custody—his departure would have devastated Sirius, after all.

And so perhaps she had herself, in part, to blame. For this. _This_. Awful. Thing.

Walburga had watched. Gazed. Observed. And yet—and yet—_this _had slipped past her. How had this slipped past her? She hadn't felt so betrayed, so—_whygodwhygodwhyfuckfuckfuckwhatnow_—in ten years.

**(**_please god no he's not his father and he's not a faggot_**)**

She drove home.

x.x.x

_You're not sure about a lot of things. You're not sure when the objective 'whom' is more correct than the subjective 'who' or why leaves dry out and fall to the ground come autumn or where your father is now (or where he was before)._

_But you are sure of some things. You are sure that you're never happier than when you've coaxed a genuine smile out of Moony. You are sure that wanting to hold him forever is _right, _that the far away look in his eyes just after you kiss him is _good, _that you and he are, if not perfect, then at least more perfect than you and he and a pair of girls you don't care anything for_._ The assurance hasn't come quickly or without struggle, but you've got it now, this certainty, and you _will_ hold onto it. Brothers and mothers and everyone else be damned._

_Finally. You're sure._

x.x.x

The door opened.

"Sirius."

The door closed.

"Sirius Black, I know you're awake. Now come sit at the kitchen table with me and we'll have a civil, reasonable discussion about all of this."

Sirius, who had been sprawled across the couch with his eyes tightly shut, pushed himself to his feet and groaned.

Fuck.

He went into the kitchen and took a seat across from his mother.

"Is your brother home?" she asked.

"He's upstairs."

"That's fine," she said. "Then this conversation can be private."

Sirius just snorted.

"Well. To start off, then. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Sirius shrugged. "No. Why should I? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Sirius, I don't think you even would have had to _say_ that if you hadn't actually done anything wrong."

Silence.

"Sirius."

Silence.

"Last night," she said. "Or—this morning. Were you engaging in—in _homosexual activities_ with—with Remus?"

Sirius nearly cracked a grin at his mother's phrasing. "Yes," he replied, "if with this crap about 'homosexual activities' you mean were Remus and I _shagging_—"

"Watch your language, young man—"

"—then yeah. We were. We did. So. That's it, I reckon."

His mother ran a hand through her hair and sighed. "That is _far_ from _it_," she said with a sigh. "Overlooking for now the fact that you are sixteen years old and too young to be having sex _at all_, I must stress that this—_this—_homosexual behavior—is wholly unacceptable. No matter your age. I have always cared for—for Remus, but if he's encouraging this behavior—"

"He hasn't done _anything_ and you've got no right to tell me—"

"—then you will simply have to stop consorting with him, and yes, I do have a right to tell you _exactly_ what I'm telling you now because I am your mother and you are living under my roof, and you are therefore compelled to follow _my_ rules."

"You can't keep me from—"

"Remus? I can and I will if that will cure you of this—"

"I bloody well never asked to be—"

"—awful homosexuality. It's a sick and perverted practice and I certainly won't allow it from one of my sons."

Sirius dug his nails into the wooden edge of the table. His hands shook. "You _can't _keep me from—"

"Sirius, _please_. Just—no, just—listen to me. This sort of—of degeneracy—it ruins people and it _ruins_ families and any urges or inclinations—well. They absolutely _must_ be nipped in the bud. You need to forget about this _thing _between you and Remus, and I know that this will be hard, but if he's the cause of this—this tendency toward homosexuality—then you _need_ to distance yourself from him and eventually you'll need to find yourself a nice girl and settle down, Sirius, because _that_ is what respectable men do."

"A nice girl?" He barked out a laugh that wasn't without malice. "I bet you were a nice girl, weren't you, Mum?"

"_Sirius Black—_" Her blue eyes were shining and her voice trembled.

"But was he a respectable man? Was he, Mum? 'Cause I must say, I _really_ haven't got a clue. Although I suppose you never intended me to have known—"

"How did you ever find out—"

"I'm not _stupid—_"

"Does your brother—"

"No, I don't think so. He doesn't know."

"Good. I hope he never will." She took a quivering breath. "Forgive me for not wishing to burden you with the knowledge that your father abandoned his family to satisfy his freakish perversions, but apparently you already knew, although I've no idea how you obtained that information."

His hands were still shaking.

"But perhaps it's for the best that you know. Now you'll certainly understand why I can't allow this—this inappropriate relationship between you and Remus to continue. You'll never be able to make a decent life for yourself if—and—Sirius, how long _have_ you and he been engaging in these sorts of activities?"

"Well, it's not as if we've been shagging since we were six bloody years old—"

"_Sirius_—"

"—but if you _must know_, we've been—we've been something other than just mates for—for a while now, I reckon."

"A _while?_" she repeated.

"A while," he confirmed.

She shook her head slowly. "This has to stop. I hate to do this, to Remus especially, but _you_ are more important to me and I cannot—I _cannot _allow you to associate with him any longer. You'll simply have to—"

"Fuck this," he spat. He stood up very suddenly. "_Fuck this._ You talk about sitting down and being reasonable and then you don't make a _bit_ of bloody sense and you're barking mad if you think you're going to keep me away from Remus and I'm damned well not letting _you _tell me who I can fuck because anyway at least Remus isn't paying me for it—"

"_Sirius Black!_"—now she was standing, too, though he was nearly a foot taller—"Sit _down_ this _instant!_ Never in my life—spoken to that way—my own _son_—_oh_—you—you—are in. Such. Trouble. Young man. _Sit down_."

But Sirius didn't sit. He ran.

x.x.x

James Potter, poor bloke, couldn't play hard to get with help from a team of professional actors.

Lily hadn't even kissed him yet when he blurted it out. They were sitting on a porch swing in her backyard, chatting happily, their shoulders and thighs not-quite-maybe-almost touching, when she turned to face him at the same moment that he turned to face her, and his eyes went very wide and she smiled slightly and leaned in, slowly, until she could see tiny, twin reflections of herself in the lenses of his spectacles—

"I love you." He pushed his glasses up his nose and mussed up his already unkempt hair. "You probably already knew because you're quite clever and all that—but. Well. I thought I'd just better tell you—umm—you know. Myself. You're not angry now, are you?"

"No, I'm not _angry_," she snapped. "But don't say it if you don't mean it."

"I _do_ mean it," he replied emphatically. "I—I _really_ love you. It's mad. How in love with you I am."

"I haven't even kissed you yet."

"You haven't got to."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow and leaned away from him. "Okay, then. I guess I won't."

"_Shit_—oh, sorry—I mean—no—_please_ do," James uttered in a single breath. "I only meant that even if you didn't or if it was horrible or something, I'd still—"

She interrupted his explanation with an onset of bubbling, uncontrollable giggles. "I know what you meant," she finally said.

And then she leaned to her right and he leaned to his left and she rolled her eyes and he laughed nervously and then she leaned to her left and he leaned to his right and she rolled her eyes and he laughed nervously and then she grabbed his face roughly in both of her hands and forcibly held him still. And kissed him.

And it wasn't horrible at all.

x.x.x

When James arrived home, still somewhat dazed from recent events, he found a stray dog loitering at his doorstep.

"Potter!" Sirius cried. "The _fuck_ have you _been_? I've been banging on your door for twenty minutes solid—thought for sure my mum would've hauled me home by now."

Apparently the creature was rabid, as well. James just grinned and rummaged through his pockets for the key.

"And where are your bloody parents, anyway?" his friend remarked as James opened the front door. "I'd have thought at least one of them would've been here to let me in."

The grin slipped from his face. "Hospital," he said as he shut the door behind them.

"Hospital?"

James shrugged. "My mum's sick."

Sirius snorted. "Your mum's always sick, but she's never let that—"

"No," he interrupted. "I mean—it's different this time. She's _really_ sick."

"Oh," Sirius said. "Well—_oh_."

"Yeah." He suddenly felt very grave and adult. "We moved her there just—umm—the other day. She needs looking after and—and all sorts of weird experimental treatments and—yeah. Stuff like that. And now Dad—he's spending about as much time there as they'll let him, I reckon. So—umm—that's where they are."

Sirius did not say "I'm so sorry" or "I hope she'll be all right" or "I reckon this must be awful for you." He said "_Fuck_," because that was how James Potter and Sirius Black did things, and James would have settled for nothing less. Just "_Fuck_."

"Wait," James said, his mind catching up with him. "What were you doing so desperate to get in here, anyway? And—you said—but why would your mum want to drag you home?"

Sirius shrugged. "Screw me if it won't sound bloody stupid now."

"First, I'd rather not, and second, everything you do sounds bloody stupid to the saner portion of humanity. Doesn't much matter whether you tell me now or later, I reckon I'll still laugh at you as soon as I've heard."

The other boy didn't smile so much as bare his teeth. "Well," he said. "I just ran away. From home, I mean."

"You—are you _joking_? Isn't running away from home sort of a six-year-old thing? And anyway, you didn't run very _far_, did you?"

"Have you got anything to eat? I'm _starving_."

"Oh—right. Go ahead," James said, although the invitation was a bit belated as Sirius has already strolled into the Potters' kitchen and started rummaging through the cupboards. "I ate at Lily's." The insidious grin returned.

"Spare me the details." Sirius fashioned a sandwich from at least three-and-a-half slices of bread, a good-sized helping of leftover turkey breast, and various condiments that had probably been in the refrigerator since before either of the boys could reach the handle.

"_So?_" James pressed. "You _really_ ran away from home?"

"Mhmm," Sirius affirmed through a mouthful of sandwich. "Got into a bit of a spat with the woman of the house. She found me—I mean—she found out about my—_tendencies_, if you will." He leered, but the effect was somewhat ruined by the string of turkey hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"_Tendencies_—you mean the fact that you're a flaming poof? You're saying she's discovered your shirt-lifting ways? She's aware that her dear elder son is an effeminate fairy boy?"

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, mate." He rolled his stormy eyes. "Guess this means Moony's not the only one of us who knows how to use a bloody thesaurus, after all_._"

"Hah. But—you really _ran away_?"

Sirius frowned. "I mean—it's not like I packed my bags or anything. I just couldn't listen to her anymore, you know? She says things like—_sick_—and—and _freakish_ and _perverted_—and not like the way you say it which is obviously all fine and dandy but—and—well. And she's got these crazy ideas about keeping me away from Remus until I'm _cured_ and then I'll _find a nice girl_ and _settle down _and—and—my _father_ and—just. Shit. So I basically told her 'Fuck you,' and left. I—umm—I figured you wouldn't mind if I hung around for a while. Maybe stayed the night. I reckon if she doesn't come by to collect me I'll head home tonight or tomorrow morning and—I don't know—see what happens, I guess."

"Yeah," James said. "I mean—yeah. Of course. You're always welcome here."

Sirius grunted.

"And Padfoot?"

Another grunt.

"You _are _a sick freak," he said. "Just—you know—not because of _that._"

And now, a smile. "Yeah. Thanks a lot, mate."

x.x.x

Ten years. Walburga hadn't cried this much in ten years.

x.x.x

"Be a love and slice these for us, will you, Pete?" Susanna said, dropping a basket full of apples on the kitchen counter. "Mum's looking for an excuse to smother the precious grandbaby a bit more, so we're gonna bake Mary and Mark a pie and bring it over there tomorrow afternoon."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You mean Mum's going to bake Mary and Mark a pie and you're going to grease the pan and hang around the kitchen for a while so that you can take some credit?"

She grinned. "So you'll cut up the apples, then?"

"Yeah," he said. "Course I will."

x.x.x

Slicing one apple was a petty bother; two apples, a minor hassle; a basket full of apples, a painstaking task that no right-minded sixteen-year-old boy would ever agree to undertake. Peter Pettigrew was undoubtedly sixteen years old and male, but it seemed he couldn't make any claims on the right-minded bit.

He took the sufficiently massive knife in one hand and an apple in the other—his fifth one from the basket thus far—and began to cut mercilessly into the crimson skin and through the crisp fruit. Not the tidiest in the kitchen, Peter was already sticky up to his elbows in apple juice, increasing the mess exponentially and generally dragging out the entire process by humming Vivaldi to himself as he worked, the fingers of his left hand dancing on the surface of the apple, his right hand draped across the knife's wooden handle in an elegant bow hold—_one, slice, down bow; two, slice, up bow; three, slice, down bow; four—_

Maybe he'd been overexposed to estrogen during some critical developmental period, but Peter had an abnormal quantity of stereotypically girlish quirks: his favorite color was pink (though whenever anyone asked he would say that it was red), he had cried the last time he'd seen _Bambi_ (when he was fifteen), and he kept little baggies of dried-up flowery stuff in his sock-and-underwear drawer (which he _needed_ to keep his things smelling nice, thankyouverymuch).

It was only to be expected, then, that Peter possessed an embarrassingly low tolerance for all things involving blood or pain or some combination thereof, and that, when suddenly confronted with a geyser of brilliant red blood and a flash of hotter-than-hell and utterly blinding pain, his legs immediately buckled underneath him and he wasted no further time in relinquishing conscious thought.

x.x.x

**a/n:** The end is _near_. Near, indeed.

p.s. **If you're confused about James' mummy**, see last chapter's a/n at the bottom. =]

p.p.s. hugs&kisses(real&hershey's).


	19. Quiet Endings

**a/n:** Yes, it's **OVER**. This is the final chapter (although there is an epilogue of sorts).

Love and thanks to everyone still reading for putting up with this story for so long!

x.x.x

**The Spy Game**

x.x.x

Nineteen: Quiet Endings

x.x.x

Peter woke to find his mother hovering over him, smoothing his hair, and his sister fooling around with a stethoscope that she probably wasn't meant to be touching. He took in his sterile surroundings and tried to remember what he had been doing earlier and why he was waking up in the hospital. His arms and legs were heavy and his head felt full of cotton.

"Peter?" his mother whispered after his eyes had been open for a few moments. "Peter, dear, are you awake?"

"Mum?" he murmured.

"Oh, Sleeping Beauty's up, then?" Susanna chimed.

"Shh, Susie. Now's not the time."

"Mum?" He was starting to remember . . .

"Peter, dear, you've had a bad accident. But you're going to be all right."

Apples . . .

"That's the important thing to remember—you're going to be all right."

Oh. _Fuck._

Peter frantically lifted his arms and opened and closed his fists, feeling, searching for—

"Shh, Peter, no, don't do that—"

Something was wrong. His left hand was numb and wrapped in gauze and something was _wrong_, oh God please no—

"Dear, please, you'll tear out the stitches."

"Stitches?"

She nodded.

"My finger," he whispered.

His mum nodded again. Susanna looked at the floor.

His voice was quiet, raspy. "You mean—it can't be—it's not—_gone_?"

"Oh, Peter." His mother placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, you poor dear. Of course you'd have thought—I should have explained—oh. No. It's not gone. You cut it nearly to the bone—Susanna found you passed out on the kitchen floor, gave us an awful fright, and you've had to have quite a lot of sutures. But—no—it's intact, thank the Lord."

He took a gulping breath. "So I'm okay? My fingers are all—all there and—and I can play violin and—"

"Slow down," his mother said. "You're not going to be able to use that finger for a while yet, let alone practice the violin. And the doctor said something about—physical therapy and—and you should be aware, Peter, even when you _have_ regained use of your finger, you won't—it might not ever be—quite the same. Quite as—agile. Do you understand?"

"But I'll be able to play?" he pressed.

She nodded. "Yes, I think it's safe to say that—given time—you'll be playing beautifully again."

x.x.x

Back at home, Peter's dreams were full of blood and severed fingers. He woke several times and fumbled for his left hand in the dark, tracing the outline of his fingers from outside the gauzy mitten. Once he even stumbled over to his dresser and took his "shoebox" from its place of honor, running his right hand along its thin neck and plucking the tinny, out-of-tune strings. Peter imagined smashing it again and again over the corner of the dresser, smashing and smashing until it was nothing but a pile of wood chips.

But no. None of that now. Nothing had yet been broken beyond repair, and nothing needed to be, now.

He just sighed in exquisite relief and went back to bed.

x.x.x

Sirius had probably experienced a more excruciating car ride sometime in his life, but damn him if he could remember when that was supposed to have been.

He had gone home last night. Sort of. He'd knocked and Regulus had answered, laughed in his face, and closed and relocked the door. And Sirius, who hadn't thought to grab a key before he'd run off, had simply gone back to James' place to spend the night.

And then this morning James had gotten a call from Peter's mother and they had gone off to relay the message to Remus and within another half an hour the three boys were crowded on the Blacks' doorstep and begging—well, James had done most of the begging, really, while Sirius had done a lot of glaring and Remus had done a lot of blushing and looking ashamed—Sirius' mum (who had fortunately answered the door this time) to drive them to Peter's house, because he had been in the hospital and nearly lost his finger and would probably appreciate a visit from his best friends to lift his nearly crushed spirits.

And so. Here they were. His mum drove, of course, and Sirius sat in the passenger seat, staring fixedly at his lap. James and Remus sat behind him and his mother, respectively. Sirius didn't speak. He could see Remus fidgeting in rearview mirror. He didn't speak, either. James, however, rambled rather loudly as if to compensate for the others' reticence—

"I can't believe Pete nearly lobbed off his finger like that. I've got a card for him—well, you two saw it—even made it myself, as utterly gay as that sounds. Err—I mean . . ."

Remus let out a tiny, forced laugh.

"Well—anyway. I really hope he's okay. His mum said on the phone she didn't reckon there was much permanent damage, but still. Glad she thought to call, at least, 'cause I don't imagine Peter would've said anything—wouldn't want to trouble us or some sort of rubbish like that, as if we haven't been mates for ten years now. And we're overdue for a visit with him, anyway—haven't seen him once since school let out, I'd been meaning to ask him over, just—got busy—you know—so. That'll be good. But—I mean—obviously the circumstances surrounding our visit aren't ideal. . ."

Silence.

"And you know, it was really lucky you were free, Mrs. Black, because Dad had already gone out before Peter's mum called this morning and so if you'd been busy we'd have had to wait until tomorrow, or maybe even all week since it's Sunday, you know, and on Monday everyone goes back to work and none of us can exactly drive a—"

"It's no trouble at all, dear," his mum cut in. "I need to pick up some items from the grocery store, actually, so I'd have been going out anyway. And it was very thoughtful of you to make Peter a card. You haven't got a card for him, have you, Sirius?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Perhaps I should stop off somewhere and let you pick one up quickly?"

"No, don't," Sirius said. "Remus did one and I already signed his."

She cringed almost imperceptibly, then smiled very brightly. "Well, that's all right, then."

"He did a really nice card," James said quickly. "He wrote a great message and sketched a violin on the front and—and it actually looks _real_, doesn't it, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded very slowly and Remus shyly ran a hand through his shaggy fringe.

"Mine's mostly just a mess of red felt tip," the bespectacled boy continued. "It's his favorite color—red, I mean, not felt tip. Well of course I meant red—felt tip isn't a color, is it? Hah. Hah hah . . ."

"Thank you v-very much f-f-for t-taking us all, Mrs. Black," Remus said softly.

"It's no trouble at all, dear," Sirius' mum replied once more, and silence prevailed for the rest of their journey.

x.x.x

Remus had never been inside Peter's house before. James had been, he knew, but only a few times, and Sirius—he wasn't sure. Sirius might not have been either. It was a small house—two tiny bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen, a living room, and squashed between two more just like it in a neighborhood of these tightly packed ramshackle homes. Sitting cross-legged on the dingy carpet and studying the pink paisley wallpaper of Peter's hand-me-down bedroom, Remus had the strange feeling of intruding on something private—like reading a letter addressed to someone else, or peering inside through another person's window.

"Was good of you lot to come," Peter said. "You shouldn't've bothered, really. Can't believe my mum actually called you, James."

"Oh, that was nothing unusual," James replied. "Bethany and I are on _very_ good terms."

Sirius snorted. Remus raised an eyebrow. Peter looked a little queasy.

"Don't let _her_ catch you joking like that," Sirius muttered darkly. "We've seen what happens to people who cross Mrs. Pettigrew." He inclined his head toward Peter's bandaged hand.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come on in," Peter called with a small smile. "If you can fit."

The door creaked open and Remus turned to see a blonde girl—petite and very pretty, probably four or five years older than Peter—carrying an infant.

"Peter," she said. "Mum called me last night, and I've only just been able to get away." She stepped around Remus, Sirius, and James, and gave Peter, who sat on the bed with his knees tucked under his chin, and one-armed hug. "You're all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said, blushing a bit. "I'm fine. It's not a big deal, really."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Right. Not a big deal. I'll remember that next time my little brother nearly maims himself and save the visit for Christmas. Who are your friends, then?" she said, looking at the veritable pile of boys on the floor.

"Oh—sorry," Peter said. "Guys, this is my sister Mary. Mary, that's James Potter, that's Sirius Black, and that's Remus Lupin."

Mary's blue eyes narrowed. "Lupin, did you say?"

Remus nodded.

"Why?" Peter said. "What is it?"

"Oh—nothing," Mary said quickly. "It's just an unusual name, that's all. I'd better leave you lot to your own devices for a while—Mark here's probably getting hungry."

x.x.x

Soon after Mary's hasty exit, James and Sirius were roped into an impromptu board game with Susanna—

"_Hey, you lot! Anyone up for a thrilling round of Snakes and Ladders?"_

"_Isn't that a kids' game?"_

"_Ought to be just about your level then, eh, Black?"_

"_Oh, c'mon, Sirius, it'll be fun."_

"_All five of us then?"_

"_Nah, Pete hates Snakes and Ladders. Sore loser, that one."_

"_Hey!"_

"_Well—you three play. Peter and I will be fine just t-talking"_

—and Remus and Peter found themselves alone in the bedroom.

"Ta, mate," Peter said. "I really do hate Snakes and Ladders. All the backtracking, you know."

Remus smiled. "Never played it, actually. I—umm—I'm really glad you'll—you'll be okay."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I mean—me too, obviously. Thanks for dropping by and all that."

He shrugged.

"It's just—it isn't—it's _weird_, you know? What I almost—almost did. Because it's—I wasn't—well. And. I mean—it's like—my whole—_everything_ was nearly ruined just 'cause—because I was a little—I don't know. Clumsy. Shit, I'm not making any sense, am I?"

"No—I mean—I understand," Remus said.

"Okay," Peter said. "Right. Good. So, it's—I don't know—just—kind of awful. But also kind of good. Like—more than good. Fantastic. Because something so much worse could've happened and—it didn't. Like I was—spared, somehow. Well—that doesn't—I don't know how to say it right. I'm sure you'd have a word for it, Remus."

He frowned. "A word for—for what, exactly?"

Peter pursed his lips in thought. "A word for—for when, it's like, something really bad doesn't happen when it almost—almost should. Not _should_, but—I don't know. Like _luck_, but—not _good_—I mean. Damn. Just—the worst doesn't always happen, you know?"

Remus nodded. "I think," he said, "some people would c-call that—grace."

"Grace," Peter echoed.

"Grace," he repeated.

Peter nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, that's it exactly."

x.x.x

Just minutes after his friends had departed, Peter heard a knock on his door.

"Come in."

Mary cracked the door and slipped into the bedroom. "Hey, little brother." She sat next to him on the bed, her baby in her arms.

Peter remembered the last time that he and Mary had sat like this, together on his little bed, and he felt the old, sleeping curiosity flex and yawn once more.

"Hey—Mary?"

"Hmm?"

"Remember—remember when you said that—umm—if I had any questions? About—you know . . . "

She frowned. "Yes."

"Right. Um." Peter gathered his nerve. "So—you said, I mean, ages ago—it was a car? He was hit by a car?"

She nodded. "An accident."

"And do you know—I mean, it hardly matters—it's not as if—and an accident—but still—do you know—I mean—who—"

"No," she said suddenly, firmly. She adjusted the baby to scratch her nose. "I mean—I'm sorry. But I don't—no one knows. It was a hit-and-run. They never found whoever did it. So. No. I have no idea. No one does."

"Oh," he said. "That's—"

"Exactly how it is, usually. And maybe how it should be."

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Is that all?" Mary said with more than a hint of her old iciness.

"Yes—no—I mean—no. Wait. That's not all."

She raised an eyebrow.

He swallowed hard. "Umm—I just—I always wanted to know—what he was—well. You know. _Like_."

"I can't remember much," Mary told him, but her voice and her face were soft now, and Peter knew that she would tell him everything that she could.

x.x.x

Sirius' first few days back at home were mostly silent. His mother would look at him, purse her lips, then smile with saccharine artificiality. Sometimes he would catch sight of her in the morning, before she'd done her makeup, and always her eyes would be red-rimmed, set in dark, exhausted shadows.

When he left that afternoon to see Remus, he told her that he was going to James' place. She knew that he was lying. Sirius knew that she knew he was lying.

He just didn't really care.

x.x.x

Remus was, predictably enough, spending the late-summer afternoon under the shade of the willow—the tree was huge now, its roots sprawling and its branches sweeping and its trunk stretching ever farther toward the sky.

Sirius approached slowly. From the edge of the Lupins' yard, he could see that Remus and someone else—a woman—were sitting cross-legged in the grass with a plastic chess set between them. He had never seen the woman before, but he was sure he discerned something familiar about her. She was probably about thirty-five or forty years old, with a gentle, somewhat tired face, and her long and wavy hair—a few shades lighter than Remus', with a streak or two of gray—was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She wore a flowery dress and no makeup. Her eyes were big and almost gold in color.

She spotted him and waved—unsurely, tentatively. Then Remus turned and caught sight of him as well.

"Sirius!" he called. "You've not met my mum, have you?"

His mother. For a fraction of a second Sirius stood, stunned, but he collected himself, grinning and trotting over to the pair. "Mrs. Lupin?" he inquired, looking at the woman across from Remus.

"Catie is just fine, dear," she said, standing up to lightly shake Sirius' extended hand.

"Well then, Catie, it's a pleasure to meet you." He gave her a particularly polished smile.

She smiled almost shyly in return and resumed her seat.

He looked at Remus. "Can I sit with you, then?" Once, Sirius wouldn't have bothered asking. But they were terribly old now and nothing was certain any more.

"Course," Remus said. "Sirius is one of my very b-best friends, Mum," he explained.

Sirius sat down.

"Well," his mother said, "he is quite charming. If all your friends are like that, I'd say you've got very good taste."

Remus blushed and bit his lower lip. Sirius laughed loudly.

"You obviously haven't met Severus Sn—"

"Shh!" Remus interjected. "Sirius—really—you don't need—that isn't—n-necessary."

Sirius stuck out his tongue playfully at the other boy but said nothing, and Catie Lupin watched with a happily bemused expression.

"I am sorry I haven't met you before," she told Sirius almost wistfully. "I've been—a bit absent. You'll have to forgive me. Have you and Remus been friends for very long?"

"Oh—yeah, I think you could safely say that we've been friends for quite a long time."

"And did you meet at school?" she asked. "Because if that's the case, I bet you're a brilliant student like Remus here. I never knew my own son was so smart—well naturally I'd always _thought_ that about him. But now he's got all sorts tests and papers that prove it."

Remus blushed heavily and Sirius just smiled at Catie Lupin's bursting pride.

He understood completely.

"Not at school, actually, no," he replied.

"Oh, well, forgive me," she said, apparently detecting her son's embarrassment. "You know how mothers can be, I'm sure. So tell me—if you and Remus didn't meet at school, then when and how _did_ you meet?"

"Oh—umm—it's funny, actually. Me and James—you don't know James Potter, do you?"

Catie shook her head.

"Right. Well. Good bloke. Lives just a couple houses down. We've pretty much been best mates forever. Anyway, me and him, when we were kids, we'd play this game—ummm—where we'd sneak into people's yards and—hah, umm, well"—Remus snorted—"_well,_ that's how we found Remus. When we were—umm—six years old, I reckon."

She smiled, amused. "So—a very long time, then?"

He nodded.

"Well. I suppose I ought to thank you."

Sirius didn't really know what to say to that, so he just grinned and shrugged.

x.x.x

"Sirius," Remus whispered as Catie headed inside to fix some lunch.

"Yeah?"

"Your mum—"

"Don't worry about her," Sirius said firmly.

Remus frowned, but nodded his agreement. "But do you—do you think we'll be—all right?"

"That," Sirius said, "is perhaps the only thing I'm sure of."

Remus looked around and gave him a quick hug. And when he pulled away and smiled so that his cheeks bulged and his eyes crinkled, Sirius felt that sixteen wasn't so far-removed from six, after all.

x.x.x

"They're releasing your mother from the hospital. We're to collect her tomorrow morning."

James looked up from his take-away dinner with bright eyes as his father placed the phone on the receiver.

"That's brilliant!" he said. "She must be getting better, after all."

His father shook his head solemnly.

"No?" James whispered.

Another shake of his father's head. "They've not—they haven't—no," he said softly, slowly. "They just think she would—would be more comfortable at home."

James swallowed a mouthful of curry and tried not to vomit. "Right," he said. "Right."

His father had spidery lines at the corner of each eye and gray hair by the handful. The man stood, slumped, exhausted, and it occurred to James for the first time that he and his friends weren't the only people getting older.

x.x.x

Sirius had never been to a funeral before. Well—when he was five his mother had conducted a funeral for the family goldfish, which had died of something akin to obesity (but really, no one could blame him and Reg when feeding the fish was just so much _fun_). But he had never been to a real funeral for an actual dead human being.

It was a rather small affair. The dark casket and the hush of people shrouded in black stuck out absurdly against the bright end-of-summer day and the cheerful little Anglican church. A colorful flower garden flourished just outside while the sun poured in through the stained glass and painted colorful streaks of light across the white beech floors.

James and his father held the seats of honor today, along with James' maternal grandparents, who had flown in from Wales and looked on the brink of death themselves. Across the aisle from them were a number of other extended family members. Sirius' family sat behind James and his dad—Sirius directly behind James, Regulus behind Mr. Potter and sandwiched between Sirius and their mother. Also in attendance were Peter and his mother, Remus, the Evans family, and various adults that Sirius didn't recognize. Severus Snape had even showed up at the Potter's house a few hours prior to offer his sympathies with a card and a rough handshake for James, but apparently he knew better than to show his face at the service.

The priest was a good sport, all things considered—a thirty-something who had probably hoped to spend the pleasant afternoon in some park with a pretty wife and a couple of laughing toddlers. He talked about "the tragedy of a life cut short" and "God's mysterious plan" and "comfort in the knowledge of salvation"—well-intentioned utterances that Sirius couldn't half pay attention to while his best friend's shoulders were shaking in front of him.

x.x.x

Lily held his hand as they lowered his mother into the gaping earth. His glasses kept fogging and he'd had to take them off, so he couldn't see much—just a lot of glaring blue and green. And black. But that was probably for the best. He didn't need his eyes to feel Lily's soft hand wrapped around his own, or to hear the sound of his own hushed sniffles. Afterwards, Lily quietly slipped away, and James and his father spent a lot of time receiving condolences from various acquaintances and extended family members.

"You've been really patient, James," his father said in a soft, sandpaper voice. "If you want to take off for a while—." He inclined his head toward the edge of the graveyard where James, his glasses now back in their rightful place, saw Sirius, Remus, and Peter sitting, possibly talking.

"Oh," he said. "I—yeah. I would like to. I mean—thanks. I'll be back—umm. Yeah."

His father nodded, and James was off.

x.x.x

The heat was oppressive, and Remus had to shrug off his jacket. It had looked a bit ridiculous on him, honestly—he'd had to borrow it from Sirius, and the sleeves stopped half an inch before his wrists while the shoulders stuck out awkwardly from his thin frame. Wnen he had left home earlier that afternoon, he'd worn blue jeans and a t-shirt and had told his mother he was going to the cinema.

And besides borrowing Sirius' clothes, he'd had to _drive_ with Sirius' family, because the Evans family didn't have room for another in their car and he could hardly impose himself on James and his father. So Remus had asked Mrs. Black very politely and with his eyes averted if she might, possibly, somehow, if it wasn't too much trouble, be able to give him a ride to the funeral. And she had—of course—replied very sweetly that it wasn't any trouble at all and he would be welcome to ride with them. So he'd sat next to Regulus and behind Mrs. Black and remained silent, occasionally catching Sirius' eye in the rearview mirror and then looking away quickly.

He'd sat with Lily for the service.

"It's almost over," Sirius said, sprawled lazily across the overgrown grass.

"Hmm?" Remus settled himself next to Sirius, tucking his knees under his chin and wrapping his arms under his legs.

"Summer," Sirius said. "It's almost over."

Peter soon joined them, taking a seat on the ground next to Remus. His left forefinger was in a splint. No one spoke.

Moments or days later, James joined them, too. He crumpled bonelessly on the other side of Sirius.

For several minutes.

No one spoke.

"It was quiet," James finally said. The sun glared harshly off his spectacles. "Not like—not like loud or, or—agonizing, I don't think. We'd both kissed her goodnight, and then in the morning Dad went to bring her a bit of breakfast and—. Well. She just drifted off, I reckon. Asleep and then—right. Quiet."

Silence crept upon them once more.

Peter was the first to speak in response. "That's how they say the best endings are." His voice was a near whisper, breathy and warm as the summer evening's soft breeze. "Quiet, I mean."

"Oh, _fuck_," Sirius murmured.

Remus sighed softly.

"Yeah," James said. He removed his glasses and wiped them on his sleeve. "Yeah. That's right, mate. That's right."

The bleeding sun sat low on the horizon when the four friends eventually bid their somber goodbyes.

x.x.x

_End._

x.x.x

**a/n:** OMFGAHYAY it's finished! There is an **EPILOGUE**, which will _not_ be posted at this site. Fanfiction(dot)net doesn't allow the strike-through symbol, for reasons unknown, and I'm way too much of a diva to rewrite the epilogue to accommodate the site's formatting restrictions. So, instead, you may read it here (just remove the space and replace "(dot)" with actual periods):

http:// yourmomismyheart(dot)wordpress(dot)com

But if you want to review first then that's cool, too.

Love you all.


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